Outside of Fate
by FrumiousBandersnatch10
Summary: Emma trains to be a Hero with legends while Storybrooke crumbles from within. Regina tries to find her place as a hero. Sequel to JoAT. Rated strong T for language and themes. SwanMills family development. SQ
1. Promo

Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time or the characters therein.

A/N: This story is sequel to my one-shot, Jill of All Trades. This story can be read alone, but JoAT provides more context. It is based on these plot points: Emma remains the Dark One (she could hear the Dagger while Rumple didn't, despite it being close). It was a trick by the Darkness, trying to control her; Rumple's name was a glamor. He lied to buy time like Emma did for Hook. Belle learned about his lies and left, unable to take the constant deceit. Hook did not return from the underworld. Zelena did make it back, however, and has visitation with her daughter.

Outside of Fate

Promo

 _You mean you really haven't figured it out yet, Dearie?_

The clenched jaw tipped her off first. Eyes dropping to Emma's hands and seeing the white knuckles, she knew she had to intervene.

"Robin," Regina called, drawing his attention. "Can you help me for a moment?"

Naturally, the man immediately set down the support beam he was holding and trotted up to her. Regina stepped aside to let him into the house before shutting the door. "Leave her alone, Robin," she said before he could ask why she called him. She set one hand gently over his hand and looked into his eyes. "Emma needs to work, and your help will only make her angry. Please, just let her do this."

Robin gave her a pained look. "I don't understand. I'm not getting in the way or making it more difficult."

 _It's all about balance._

Regina sighed. "I know, but I can't explain. Just… it's not you, Robin. Emma needs to tell her story. Please, just accept that Emma needs to do these things." He still looked skeptical; he didn't understand. She forced a laugh, but it sounded more like a breath. "Robin, she nearly had a panic attack because I said I could change the light bulbs with magic. Let her do this on her own. She will ask for help if she wants it."

She wouldn't, of course. Emma would absently rebuff any offers of assistance. Her focus would be on building the deck she'd been working on the last few days. She'd already purchased the supplies in a rare trip into Storybrooke proper and was now cutting various boards to the required lengths.

"Regina?" Robin asked, voice laced with concern. "What is it? Were you able to talk to Rumplestiltskin?"

 _You've always come to me for lessons in the past, so I suppose it is only natural you would come to again for further learning. Do sit down, Your Majesty. I will educate you._

She nodded tiredly, watching Emma. The blonde's shoulders had relaxed to a degree, but Regina could still see the stiffness of her movements. The Dark Ones were probably having a field day with Robin's offer and attempt to help. What were they saying, she wondered. That he was spying on her? That he didn't trust her? That no one did?

"Regina?"

She turned to him and sighed. "I… yes, I spoke with Gold." She rubbed her face. The damn imp was all too happy to give her answers. Smug bastard. He knew Regina would not like what he would have to say. He was not outright vicious anymore, but she suspected he still held a grudge against her for holding Belle captive for so long.

"And did you get the answers you were looking for?" He asked gently.

Regina winced. "Something like that." She looked outside. "I'll go talk to her."

"Regina," he began slowly. "I want you to know that this is not your responsibility. Emma is responsible for her own choices. You are not her keeper."

 _As you know, Snow White and her Charming husband wanted their child to be a hero, so they took the Darkness from her before she was even born._

"I know that," she replied grimly. "But I also know how dangerous it is to left alone with dark thoughts. I know what it means to need someone to talk to me, or to listen. She needs that."

Robin sighed, but nodded his understanding.

Regina tipped her head in acknowledgment then slipped outside. Emma was diligently using a handsaw. Regina had suggested one of those electric monstrosities, but Emma insisted on using the handsaw. She said it was to keep the noise down around the baby, but Regina thought it might be because it would take more time and effort this way.

She strolled up to the blonde woman, but Emma was rather absorbed in her work and didn't notice. Regina watched her for a moment before clearing her throat. "What are they talking about now?" She asked once she had Emma's attention.

"Well, Nimue is pretty pissed that you're here, but she's not really talking. More scowling than anything. Gorgon was telling me that I'm incompetent because I should be destroying things, not building them. But he's stuck in the body of a fire-breathing pig, so he just kinda grunts and I understand him. Rumplestilskin is just giggling, so I guess there is some kind of irony here that I don't know about. Aldrich is talking about how Robin smells like an ape and is spying on me."

Regina nodded. "And what are you thinking?"

 _They created their Hero, their Savior. But all magic comes with a price. In making her a hero, they made her more. Doubtless they did not know how they condemned her even as they tried to save her._

Emma stopped to smirk up at her. "Well, right now I'm wondering how Aldrich knows what an ape smells like."

She laughed. "Perhaps he saw it in your memories?"

Emma's smirk faded. "Nah. I've never, you know, been to a zoo. Unless you think he's guessing?"

"Possibly," she answered, clasping her hands behind her back and stepping closer. "So, who is Aldrich?"

Emma blinked slowly. "One of the middle-ish Dark Ones. He didn't keep his power very long. He was bullied by his village, kinda like Rumplestiltskin, but not as smart. He got the power but couldn't hang on to it. He was pretty paranoid, so he attacked people at random. They were pretty desperate to get rid of him. He is how they discovered that Squid Ink binds Dark Ones. He was killed by Zalathustra, who became the next Dark One."

"So Aldrich spends his time making you paranoid?"

"He tries. I mostly ignore him. He whines about everything." She rolled her eyes.

"Mostly. You mostly ignore him." Regina gave her a knowing look. "Part of you believed him."

 _There is a legend. There are always legends from our world. Stories and myths about the Heroes of old. Epic Heroes, they're called._

Emma shifted, mouth twisted in a grimace. "He has been extra…hover-y."

Regina reached out and touched her arm. "Emma. They're lying. You know this."

"Not usually," Emma said. She dropped the saw and walked a few paces away. Regina followed, then both sat in the chairs set off to the side. "They tell the truth. Why lie to me, when the truth is so much worse? When it will break me? Robin isn't spying, I get that, but he doesn't trust me. He really doesn't like how much time you spend with me. He's always trying to help me, and it's probably because he thinks I'm gonna curse a dresser drawer into a death trap or something."

Having seen the way Robin watched Emma, Regina could not deny the possibility. Worse, Emma was right. The truth would destroy her so much faster than lies. Secrets, too.

And therein lay the problem.

"You need to talk to them," she said instead.

Emma groaned and closed her eyes. "This again? I thought you were going to give me time."

"I have given you time."

"Five days is not time. And you've asked me everyday. That is not time."

"Did it help? Talking to me?"

 _The first true Hero was the same. Ours has always been a cruel world, Your Majesty, but before a time in memoriam, it was far, far worse. Our world needed a Hero. So, a Hero was made. One who would not fall to the vice and greed that our land was rife with._

Emma turned to her slowly. "Yes," she admitted. "No." She looked toward the apple tree. "They talk a lot more. They are kinda desperate. Keep saying I can be the best of them if I just give in. They still talk about you too, but it's different. More aggressive. They really want you to die. But, at the same time, it's easier to ignore them."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "I trust you," she replied easily.

And wasn't that just the worst possible thing Emma could have said. Because really, Emma's trust in her made this so much more difficult.

"Then maybe talking to them will help, too. Talk to them. Work through everything. If you do, it might make it easier to ignore them," Regina suggested.

Emma pursed her lips and looked up at the sky. A bird flew overhead. "I still blame them," she whispered.

 _Now, to make this Hero, the Darkness was removed before he was born. Pure of intent and heroic in spirit, yes?_

"You need to try," Regina returned, voice soft.

"I know. I know." She pulled her hair up off her neck before dropping it back down. "When do you wanna do it?"

"Me?"

She shrugged. "You keep me from doing stupid stuff. I figure, if something needs to be done, you'll help me do it right. I learned my lesson there. So?"

Regina considered this. "The sooner the better, so you can't back out. Tonight? We can invite everyone for dinner."

Emma took a moment to consider. "Yeah, I guess. I, uh, I'll make dinner. Let me just wash up and I'll go make something. Is that okay?"

"It should be fine, Dear. What will you talk to them about?"

 _And in time, this Hero went on to do great things, and did indeed save the people of the Enchanted Forest from many great evils._

"Neal," Emma answered immediately. "I want to see my brother. I mean, the age difference between us is creepy, especially since I'm older than our mother in a way, but I still want to see him. He's too young to be angry with me yet, and it's nice not to be judged."

Regina stared at her for a moment. "If you're sure."

"I am."

Regina decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and she would not ask Emma what other reasons she had for wanting to talk about Neal might be.

 _But the Fates are unkind to those who meddle in their designs. There is a very strict punishment for those who force a change in their tapestry. That punishment always falls upon the Hero._

-OoF-

Dinner is even more awkward than Regina anticipated. Considering some of the other family dinners they had, she had prepared for an incredibly awkward dinner. She'd asked Robin to take his daughter for their regular visit with Zelena. It wasn't much, but it made Emma feel more comfortable.

 _Heroes, you see, always have people to save, great deeds to do, but there is more to it than just that. To do those things, they must be placed in those situations._

Emma, meanwhile, had cooked a veritable feast. Pot roast nestled in a bed of potatoes, carrots and celery, homemade dinner rolls, and an apple crumble. She was impressed. The roast was tender, not needing to be cut with a knife. It was delicious.

"This is wonderful, Regina," Snow commented, smiling warmly.

"Yeah Mom, it's good," Henry grinned.

"Thank you, but Emma made dinner tonight," Regina deferred, unable to keep the touch of smugness from her tone. She was unabashedly proud of Emma, even if she was the only one to recognize what it meant for Emma to make this meal.

 _To save a starving man, the Hero must give up some of his own food and go hungry in his stead. To save people from being killed, they must fight their battles, must have blood on their hands._

The silence that followed was incredibly uncomfortable. No one save Regina dared touch their food for several long moments. It was Henry who broke the standoff. He sat up a little straighter in his seat, looked at Emma and smiled stiffly. "It's good, Mom. Thanks." As if to prove it was safe, he took a large bite. Seeing that neither Henry nor Regina were harmed, the Charmings resumed their meal slowly.

"It's delicious," David spoke, voice somewhat strained.

"I didn't know you could cook," Snow commented, brow pinched.

"You never asked," Emma muttered.

"Well, I suppose I didn't need to. I only ever saw you destroying toasters." She raised her eyebrows.

"I have a thing against toasters." Emma shrugged, trying act as though she did not care.

"She always has," Henry said, forcing a light laugh. "She used to break them all the time in New York."

Regina didn't tell them what Emma had told her. Yes, Regina knew exactly why Emma hated toasters, why she would destroy them every chance she got. No one else seemed to recognize the signs on her hands. The marks on her fingers were so faded by time that even Regina had to strain to see them when Emma offered her hand as proof. Anyone shaking her hand might think the scars were calluses, but Regina knew better. Now, at least.

But then, Regina knew about all of Emma's scars. It had been a very long night, one that involved a great deal of wine on her part, while Emma showed her each scar and told the story of how she got them. Some were harmless, like the time she stepped on a nail ("it got me at a weird angle—bled for three blocks while I just kinda hopped my way back to the house") or caught her leg on the fence she tried to jump on a foolish dare. Others were markedly less so.

Awkwardly, David began to discuss his day at the Station and complained about the paperwork that came with being Sheriff. Emma nodded along, not commenting that she was the actual Sheriff, that the title was taken from her against her wishes long before she became the Dark One. It was a point of contention that Emma didn't want to talk about very much at that point.

"Emma, perhaps it's time to actually talk with your family," Regina began gently when David trailed off.

 _It's all about Balance, Dearie._

Emma, who had been staring hard at the empty chair at the table, twitched. She looked around the room, eyes lingering on each person in turn, until they came to rest on Regina. She nodded slightly before her eyes turned to Snow and David. "Where's Neal?"

Snow and David shared a worried look before Snow sat up. "We left him with Granny for the night. We figured you would want to talk with just us."

 _The problem is that this is not what the Fates wanted, it was not their design._

Regina wondered if she was the only one who saw the light in Emma's eyes fade to an empty stare. Emma hummed and looked away, swaying slightly in her seat, blank eyes locked on her glass of wine.

"Emma," Regina said, leaning forward. "They're trying to trick you. That's what they do."

"They?" Henry asked.

 _They had a very different plan for the Hero, of course, one that could have been anything from the life of a pig farmer to that of a king. And that plan can never be realized, not for the Hero._

"The Dark Ones, Henry," Emma explained distantly, blinking slowly, her eyes not seeing anything in the room. She tapped her temple three times. "Every single Dark One that existed before me. They're all in my head. Still. They never really left because I never stopped being the Dark One. But you already knew that. They made that quite clear when we failed to bring back Hook. But yeah, they're here. They tell me things."

"Lies," he said, nodding. "They tell you lies. And that's why you do bad things." He seemed satisfied with his conclusion, even smiling a little as if he solved some great riddle. Regina could not hide her wince, already knowing what was coming.

 _A Hero stands outside of Fate and cannot be controlled, and they don't like that. Despise it, really._

"Maybe. Are they though? Because right now, Zoso is showing me that David has Squid Ink with him right now. If they are lying, he won't mind turning out his pockets. Including the breast pocket of his jacket."

David, who had gone very pale, didn't move. He glanced at Snow, then looked back at his plate.

 _A Hero will always have someone to save, will always seek out dishonesty without even knowing it. A Hero can never rest. Vagabond Knights, all of them, wandering the land and taking up arms against injustice._

"Grandpa?" Henry asked.

"David?" Regina asked at the same time. "Snow?"

It was Snow that cracked. "We don't trust the Darkness," she admitted in a rush.

 _And that is why you came to me, isn't it? To find a way for our very own Lost Hero to find peace. It can't be done._

Henry's shoulders slumped at he looked at his grandparents. Regina couldn't look at any of them and covered her eyes for a moment. Really, the UnCharmings were maddening at the best of times, but to do this…

"I can't do this," Emma muttered, standing. "I tried, but it's too soon. I need to go. Enjoy your dinner." She reached out and touched Regina lightly on the shoulder. Green eyes glistened with unshed tears and something more. "Thank you," she whispered. And then she was gone in a puff of smoke.

Silence.

 _Even as the Darkness haunts her, Miss Swan is immune in her own way. Oh, she makes terrible choices—Hero or not, she is still human. She is bound to make mistakes._

"Well, that went well," Regina snapped. "I spend five days convincing her to let you try being her parents, and you pull this? Squid Ink? Really? You continue to astound me with your decision-making skills."

They had the grace to look embarrassed. "We didn't mean… we can't trust the Darkness, we can't trust her to control it. You heard her. She was listening to So-So or whoever instead of talking with us!" David defended.

Regina sneered. "Zoso never actually talks to her. He just shows her images of what you and Snow do. He must have shown her how you put the Squid Ink in your pocket. I'm assuming it's in the breast pocket of your jacket?"

He huffed, but pulled the vial from the identified pocket.

"She's trying, Grandpa," Henry chided. He looked down at his plate. "I'm not hungry, Mom. May I be excused?"

Feeling very tired, Regina nodded. "I'll save your dinner for when you get hungry," she offered. "Emma worked hard to make something you would like. We don't want to waste it."

 _But peace is impossible for her. There can be moments of respite, but they are only that. Moments. Just enough time to recover before she is off on her next quest, whether as the lead or support, it doesn't matter. There will always be someone to save, someone to help._

Harry nodded and left. Regina watched him go. She took a bite of the roast, but it tasted like ash in her mouth. Sighing she set her fork down. "I find I have also lost my appetite. Do either of you want to explain that debacle? Or better, why you won't let Emma see her own brother?"

It took all of her will not to tell them that Neal was perfectly safe with Emma, that his sister took him for long walks every night. They never even noticed, having slept soundly through the night while she dealt with his colic. Instead, she forced herself to listen.

Unsurprisingly, they were not able to give her a satisfactory answer.

 _Funny, isn't it?_

-OoF-

Regina waited patiently for Emma to return. Henry chose to stay with her for the night. He, along with Robin, Roland and the baby, were all upstairs, sleeping. Regina, as she was wont to do, waited for Emma to pop in.

The house was quiet, but she was reading a rather pleasant novel, so it was a fine way to pass the time until Emma decided to show herself. She waited until just after one in the morning. Emma arrived in a cloud of smoke, fussing babe in her arms.

"It took forever for them to fall asleep. They were talking about me again," she explained. She bounced Neal in her arms, the motion soothing him. His fussing quieted.

"The Charmings or the Dark Ones?"

"Both," Emma answered. "Snow and David were talking about how they were going to deal with me and keep Neal safe from me. They don't trust why I want to see him. They think I want to hurt him. Vehan was talking to me about how in the Enchanted Forest I would have been disowned and Neal would be declared the Heir Apparent a long time ago, going on and on about how Neal is more important to Snow and David as a proper heir or whatever. He wanted me to snap his neck and secure my place in line for the throne again.

"It's the stupidest argument for pretty much anything. We're not in the Enchanted Forest, and it doesn't look like we'll be going back anytime soon. Why the hell would I want to be a queen? I hated the paperwork I had as a Sheriff. I don't want the paperwork that comes with being a ruling monarch. Let Neal have it. As a king, I mean. Not a queen. Or, you know, if he wants to be a queen, then he can be a queen. I'm the Dark One—not really in a position to judge."

 _Snow White and Charming wanted her to be good. They took to the Darkness to make it so. To make her a Hero. No Damsel in Distress, no, not our Miss Swan. She was always meant to be a woman of action, of deeds._

Regina smothered a bitter laugh. Of course. Only Emma would reject being a queen based on the amount of paperwork. Still, there was more to it than that. Emma would tell her in time.

"Which one is Vehan?" She asked instead. She watched as Emma walked calmly around the room, Neal still fussing but much more quietly.

"He came before Gorgon. He was an advisor at some court. He usually acted as a magistrate. He took power so he could exact justice on criminals everywhere. Never mind that he took bribes pretty regularly. Asshole." She looked down at Neal. "Don't tell your parents I said that in front of you."

 _Instead they damned her to eternal suffering._

Emma proceeded to ramble on about the other Dark Ones in her head. Their names, their histories, their motives. How they tormented her. Twelve Dark Ones, whispering to her all the time. Eventually, though, the words became softer and softer, trailing away until she was only humming in Neal's ear.

"I think I need to leave," Emma whispered, but Regina still heard. She was staring at the wall again, doubtless listening to whatever Dark One was trying to corrupt her at the moment. "I've been feeling like this for awhile. Restless. Working helps but it's like a Band-Aid for a bullet hole right now."

 _There is little that I know of her life, but I know enough of Fate that I can make an educated guess._

"To where?" She asked, frowning. She supposed Emma could go back to the quaint little home Hook had picked out, but that did not seem safe. No, that would leave Emma with far too much time to think.

"I don't know. California, maybe? Away from here, away from magic."

Regina clutched the fabric of her shirt over her heart a she realized what Emma meant by leaving. No. This could not be happening.

 _A woman who never stayed in one place for long, always moving and being moved, unable to stay out of trouble, forever taking the burdens destined for others upon herself._

"I'll go back to bounty hunting. Save up money, go to college. I worked hard to get my GED in jail. I mean, I didn't have much to do, and the Warden arranged for me to get the study books. It took forever because reading is boring as hell. Did you know I used to teach the other inmates so I could learn it myself? It seemed to be the only way I could pick it up."

Subtly, Regina rubbed her eye, preventing the tear from falling before Emma could see. She supposed, though, Emma would not see it anyway. She was staring at nothing again, rambling on and not even aware she was.

"I've still got some money laid by. I can get myself out there, get an apartment, get settled. I can call back every week. Check in with you. With Henry, if he wants to talk to me. It'll make your lives easier, I'm sure."

 _Like taking the punishment for my own son's crimes. Like owing me a favor so that Miss Boyd could have her babe and her beau. Like giving up her magic to save a life that did not deserve saving. Like taking the Darkness so the Evil Queen could have her happy ending._

"Emma, don't. You saw what happened the last time you tried to do everything by yourself. Don't do this to yourself." It took everything she had to sound normal, to keep the plea from her voice.

"That's not what this is about, Regina. It's about getting peace and quiet. It's about getting sleep. It's about letting everyone get on with their lives since I am only a painful reminder of what could have been or what will never be.

"It's about putting distance between me and the family I can't have. Snow and David will never accept me, not like this. Excalibur is gone, and the Dagger with it. No one can kill me. I am always going to be the Dark One. As long as I'm here, that's not going to change. If I leave, though, I'm human again. I can leave and I'll be able to die, and I'll take the Darkness straight to hell with me. I need to leave. It's for the best."

 _In doing so, she has taken the greatest burden of all. And make no mistake; she will never be rid of it. Miss Swan will be the last Dark One._

"Emma," she whispered mournfully. The problem was that Emma was right. Every single word was the truth. As she'd said, the truth was so much more damaging than lies.

"It's for the best," she repeated. She gave a shaky smile. "I'll say my goodbyes and leave tomorrow. I'll pack tonight. Not that I have much. You can't keep much in the system. I know there are good homes out there, but it seems like I always got sent to the worst ones. When I was a kid, I used to joke that I was cursed. Now I don't think it's so funny."

 _An immortal that just can't help but to take everyone's burden. I can't help but wonder when she will break under that weight._

Regina choked back her words. She would not beg. She wouldn't.

"So, yeah. I'll leave. Snow and David can have their darling little Prince Neal, you can have Henry. I'll call every now and again. Without magic, I figure I'll be pretty harmless. Do some bounty hunting, build up my funds again, go to college. Not sure what I want to get a degree in yet. I'm thinking something art related.

"And hey, maybe I'll be a foster parent. Think they'll let me? My juvie record is sealed to everyone but you, I'm pretty sure. I can probably take in a few kids like me. I'm not trying to replace Henry, I swear but… there are a lot of kids who are slipping through the cracks, just like I did. I wanna try and help. If I can. I don't want any other kids to have to live like I did when I was in the system. It seemed like I always got sent to the absolute worst homes and never got to stay long in the good ones."

 _See what I mean about meddling in the Fates' design? That is the price every true Hero pays. Heart wrenching, I know._

"Your family is here, Emma," Regina finally managed to say. The plea in her words sounded desperate, even to her own ears.

"I know you are," Emma answered. "But none of you need me. You have Robin and your kids. Two boys and a girl—that's a lot for the new of you. You don't need a fourth kid to look after, and I don't know about you, but Robin definitely feels the need to look after me. For, you know, obvious and distrustful reasons. Snow and David have Neal. Henry has you and he'll have Robin. There is nothing here for me, Regina. I have no reason to stay. I should go. It really is for the best."

 _It's what you get when you disrupt the balance, when you anger the Fates._

"Emma, I—"

"I need to take Neal back. It's getting late and I think he's down for the count. I do kinda wonder how much Snow and David will sleep when I'm gone and don't take care of him anymore, but that's not important. You look tired, Regina. You should get some rest."

And then she was gone.

Regina stared ahead, blinking back tears. No. She couldn't just let Emma leave, not like this. She had to stop her. But how, when she knew that Emma needed to leave Storybrooke as clearly as Emma did?

If there was one thing she knew for certain it was this: she had a very serious choice to make, and she did not have much time to decide.

 _Will that be all, Dearie?_

A/N: I don't care for author notes, so this will likely be the only time you hear from me aside from trigger warnings, posted at the beginning of each chapter as needed. I will get the general information out of the way now. The story will be 22 "episodes" long, with this as the promo for the season, so to speak. The story features the main cast, minus Hook, with the main character shifting from episode to episode. There will also be new characters introduced in the sense that I will be pulling from legends/myths/etc.

The focus for this story is on the characters and what it means to be a hero, not romance. I offer a warning now: OQ will not last. If I choose to a pairing, it will be SQ, and not until much farther into the story. At the very least, there will be a strong focus on SQ friendship; I cannot say if it will evolve into romance at this time. I will make it clear if I change my decision, which is possible (Episode 7 took me in a different direction than I planned when I wrote it, as did 8; I hope 9 will give me a break and actually follow my outline instead of changing everything again).

That said, I hope you have enjoyed the promo. As someone who wants to improve, please leave your thoughts in a review—anything I'm doing right or wrong. Please, do not leave flames; they are very unbecoming. Constructive criticism is welcomed.

If you think this story is not your cup of tea, considering SQ is a possibility, you are free to leave at any time, but I ask that you tell me why, so I can keep that in mind for future writing. Happy reading.

Thank you for your time,

Bandy


	2. Episode One: Parting of the Ways

Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time or the characters therein.

A/N: I stated in the Promo that I would leave another note if my decision about pairings changed. I have written ahead quite a bit; I am writing Episode 9 now. When editing, I noticed that I unwittingly set up SwanQueen. While I followed my outline, the nuances written are definitely leaning toward SQ. While I still plan for the story to end without them being paired, I acknowledge that it's possible that they will end up together. If it does, this will be an incredibly slow burn, for reasons made clear in this chapter. At the very least, there will be a great deal of emotional intimacy between them in the latter half. Consider yourself warned and stop reading if the possibility of SQ is not your cup of tea.

 **Trigger Warnings** : Death, attempted rape

Outside of Fate

Episode One: Parting of the Ways

Emma hooked her arm around the guy's neck and twisted with her shoulders, slamming him to the ground. Some people continued walking by while others stopped to stare, pulling out their phones. Emma would have rolled her eyes at the bystanders and their gawking if she were not so busy at the moment.

The purse-snatcher needed to be dealt with first.

She shifted just so, planting her knee in his back and holding him down. Emma deftly reached down and grabbed the purse from his hand. A young couple jogged up to her, eyes as wide as their smiles.

"Thank you," the young woman gushed, taking her purse back.

Emma nodded and pulled out a spare set of handcuffs she kept, even when she wasn't working. "You're welcome. Don't worry, I've got this. I'm in good with cops around here." She smiled at the couple then cuffed the thief and pulled him up.

True to her word, the police were amused and unsurprised to see her pushing the thief into the station in front of her.

"Another citizen's arrest, Swan?" Tony, the officer at the desk, asked. A smile curled on his lips.

"I'm beginning to think you fellas should just swear me in," Emma quipped. She nudged her prisoner. "Purse snatcher."

Tony considered this. "Second Street?"

"Yep."

Tony nodded. "We've had a rash of snatches over there. Must be this guy. Thanks, Swan. We owe ya."

Emma waved them away. "No big deal. I'm out. I need to head home and build a bookshelf."

"Later, Swan."

"Later, Tony."

-PotW-

"I told you to wait," Regina said calmly.

Robin frowned up at her. "I do not need Emma to do everything for me, Regina. I am fully capable of assembling this." He gestured to the various boards and screws around him. "I am not incompetent."

Regina smiled gently at him. He'd been terribly prickly of late. Well, since they'd moved to California three months prior. She needed to tread carefully. "I never said that, Robin. I know you are a very capable, very good man." She walked closer and touched him on the shoulder. "You have very different skills. Emma is used to this world, more than we are. If we were in the Enchanted Forest, you would be leading the charge, I'm sure."

He sighed and relaxed into her touch. "I know," he admitted, "but it still bothers me. I am trying to be a better man to you. And the people here are strange. I mentioned that I used to go hunting at work the other day and the others were terribly offended that I ate meat and was so cruel to the innocent wildlife, or something like that." He shrugged. "I don't know how to be part of this world."

"You'll learn," Regina reassured him. "Give it time. Emma might—"

"Emma won't let me work with her and we both know it. For obvious reasons." He gave Regina a pleading look. "Are you sure we can trust her?"

Regina had to force herself to step away from Robin before she did something drastic. "I am," she promised. "Emma won't harm any of us or anyone else, for that matter. You can trust that."

Robin rubbed his face and pushed himself up off the floor. "I believe you but… Regina. We are talking about a woman who has severe insomnia and hears voices." He barreled on before Regina could speak. "Yes, I know she no longer sees the Dark Ones, and I do recognize that she does sleep sometimes, but that does not change the facts. She is dangerous."

"Not to us," Regina said firmly. "She will be the scourge of the criminal underground, but she is harmless to us."

"Henry still doesn't trust her," he rebutted.

"He is trying. His trust was broken and she is trying to earn it back. Besides, you've always been so quick to forgive me, and what I did in one day was far worse than everything Emma did after she fell to the Darkness."

"Perhaps," he gave a little nod, "but I am not in love with Emma."

"I should hope not," Regina agreed with a weak smile.

He smiled tightly in reply. "I'm going to make myself useful and go collect Roland. Henry has soccer practice, but I trust he will be home in time for dinner." He kissed her cheek and stepped around her.

Regina waited until he was out of earshot before making a noise of disapproval at the mess he had made. Emma would not be pleased. She also would have built the entire shelf in the time in took Robin to make this mess. The blonde would have to clean and reorganize everything before she actually built it.

"Well, wasn't that just touching," Zelena mocked form the doorway. "Makes my green and withered heart beat a little faster, watching you two. So moving, really, how you managed to make him feel less incompetent than he really is. But really Sis, how do you know he would be better off than your dear Emma in the Enchanted Forest? She seems to be a bit of a survivor. Enquiring minds want to know."

"I have not doubt that Emma would be just fine in the Enchanted Forest, but she probably would not be as adept as Robin since he was raised there," Regina defended. "And she is not my Emma."

"Isn't she, though?" Zelena stood up straight. "See, I've been thinking long and hard about all this. I do love my little pistachio, and I quite enjoy my time with her. But ever since you dragged all of us to this godforsaken land without magic to be with the sleep-deprived Swan," she tittered, "I've had plenty of time to see you. Really see you. I've watched you with my child, I've watched you with Emma's, and I've watched you with Marian's. Do you want to know what I've noticed, Sister?"

"Enlighten me," Regina drawled.

"You treat them very much like you treat Robin. You treat them like children. Do you want to know what else I've noticed?"

Regina narrowed her eyes.

"I've noticed," she drew out the words, stepping closer until she was close enough to whisper. "I've noticed you don't treat Emma the same way. Our Dearly Deranged Dark One, despite many of her childish antics, is the one you treat like your partner. Funny, don't you think?" She drew back, a dark gleam in her eyes.

"Well. Lovely chat, Sis. Nothing has changed, unless you count my awareness of who you really are. If you don't mind, I'd quite like to hold my child now."

And with that, she turned away, leaving Regina stunned in her wake.

-PotW-

The steady tick-tick-tick was soothing. Belle had become accustomed to the quiet a long time ago, and while she did not much care for the chaos that accompanied her often frantic searches for knowledge, she did enjoy a little noise. Something, anything, rather than the unbroken silence of the cell under the hospital.

She had nightmares, sometimes. They varied. Sometimes she dreamt of falling, sometimes of crying. Sometimes she chased a shadow in the light, but it always seemed so far away and she could never catch up. But always, always, the silence was what caused her to wake up, heart thundering in her chest.

As a child, she might have said blindness was her greatest fear. Blind, she would struggle far more with reading. This world had Braille—the Enchanted Forest did not. She would have been lost to the world of literature forever. That, of course, was before she'd been held prisoner where silence had been her only companion, excluding only those moments food was given or taken, or she made a sound herself.

"Belle?" A gentle voice called to her, pulling her from her thoughts.

She gave a shaky smile. "Sorry, Doctor Hopper. I seem to be getting lost in my thoughts quite often."

He smiled kindly in return. "No need to apologize," he offered. "If you want to tell me where your thoughts take you, Belle, I would listen."

Her smile twisted into a grimace. "I… have dreams. Nightmares, if I'm honest." She stopped, unsure of what to say next.

"About Rumplestilskin?" He suggested. "Camelot? Something else entirely?"

She winced. "Silence."

He leaned back, but he didn't speak. He simply waited. This was the fourth time she'd met with him, and he was always so good about giving her the time she needed to gather her thoughts.

"I dream but I can't hear anything. When I can't hear, and when I'm trapped in that silence, it reminds me of being a prisoner. I never realized how important sounds are. It doesn't even have to be music. The ticking of a clock," she nodded to the clock on the wall, "the rustle of clothing, someone's breathing. They are all things that let you know that you are here, alive. They're important."

"They ground you."

"Exactly!" She sat up, leaning forward a little. "They tell me what is real and what is not, but when I dream, I can't remember that I'm asleep. I feel… trapped."

Archie considered this. "Do you feel trapped, or do you maybe feel lost?"

Belle considered this. She forced herself to think back to her last dream. "I think… I think maybe I don't feel either. I think I feel something else." She shifted in her seat. "I think that… oh I don't know."

"I think maybe you do know, but you don't want to say it," Archie told her gently. "You can say it out loud, Belle. You don't have to be embarrassed."

Belle covered her face with one hand. "I… I feel lonely."

Archie nodded, but Belle wasn't looking at him to see. "Trapped and alone? Forgive me if I overstep, but we've talked a great deal about your life. It seems to me that you've spent a lot of time being both trapped and alone. Usually both at the same time."

"And it was exactly the same in my marriage!" The words spilled out before she could stop them. "I hoped that getting married would change it, make it better, but he was gone so often, and not just to Neverland or the Underworld. He was always slipping away from me, off doing something—usually something Dark. And there I was, sitting at home like a good little wife, with only the silence for company. It seems like I am only who I want to be without him, but…" Belle trailed off, not sure if she could make herself say the words.

"But you still love him."

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep her composure, fighting to keep the tears at bay. "I still love him."

Archie was quiet for a moment. "You know. A lot of times, people get angry with themselves because they feel like they have done something or feel something they think they shouldn't. Like, in your case, loving someone who has hurt you.

"But Belle, you have to understand that this is perfectly normal." He leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk. "Completely normal," he repeated. "People who have been abused usually don't want their abuser to go away—they just want the abuse to stop. That seems a little crazy, right? If they leave, then so do the problems. But you know why they want the person who hurt them to stay?"

Belle sniffled. "They love them," she stated, sure this was the truth. Archie smiled gently and nodded, but didn't speak. Instead, he continued to look at her, and Belle knew him well enough by now to know he wanted her to continue. "We love them enough to believe they can change. Even if they can't."

"Everyone can change," Archie said quickly.

"Then why won't he?" And why couldn't she change, she wanted to ask. Belle didn't thinks she was quite strong enough for that just yet.

Archie started to clean his glasses slowly. He squinted at her while he wiped his lenses. "When the fear and pain of staying the same outweighs the fear and pain of changing, only then can change occur." He put his glasses on. "Change of any kind is scary. It is the great unknown. And Rumplestiltskin hadn't known any kind of change for, well, I'm not really sure. A few hundred years, I think. Change must be terrifying to him." He sat back and in his chair. "But you know how scary change is."

"I like change," she argued. "I like adventure."

"I'm not really sure it's the same, though. I mean, there is a difference between going on a vacation to an exotic land and going to live there. If the vacation isn't fun, you just come home and decide not to go back, right? And you prepare for the next great adventure somewhere else. But what if you were to move to, say, Japan? Not just to visit the temples and try the food and talk with the locals. Actually live there. Buy a house and be surrounded by the Japanese people with their rules and laws and their entirely different culture." Archie pushed his glasses up further on his nose. "See the difference? Change is permanent. An adventure is temporary."

Belle considered is words. "Yes, I think I see. But…"

"Why weren't you enough of a reason for him to change?" He guessed. She nodded. "I don't know. You would have to ask him."

"I don't want to talk to him right now."

Archie nodded. "So don't. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. Not anymore. You are not trapped."

"But I am still alone."

"Not as much as you might think," he challenged. "Romance is a beautiful and sometimes terrible part of life, but it is not the only part. You are allowed to have friends, Belle. You are allowed to speak with your father when you are ready to see if you can mend your relationship with him. You are allowed to get a dog or a cat or a pet snake or anything you want. Loneliness can be a choice. Not always, but it can be. The question now, is what are you going to choose?"

Belle nodded slowly. "I think I have a lot to think about."

"Well, if you need any help, you can always come talk things out with me."

"Thank you."

-PotW-

Rumplestiltskin was much like a river. Calm on the surface, but the current ran deep. He was a man on a mission. Nothing would stop him. No one would stop him. As such, he continued to look through his many tomes.

He glanced up as the bell over his door chimed. His hands stilled. He moved casually toward the front of the store, keeping his expression bored. "Maleficent. To what do I owe the displeasure of seeing you here in my shop?"

"Hello to you too. I see your continued separation from you wife has done little to improve your disposition. And you wonder why she left you," Maleficent returned.

Rumplestiltskin bit back a snarl. "Why are you here?"

"Are you being existential or literal?" She mocked, striding forward. "I can't quite tell."

"Get to the point, you overgrown lizard," he snapped. He had no time for her.

Maleficent chuckled, but the sound entirely bitter. "It seems we are in a position to help one another."

"I very much doubt that."

"Do you now?" She cooed. "You see, we dragons have very good eyesight. I know what you were reading. I've been watching you for the last few days, actually. It took awhile, but I was able to guess what you are looking for. I can help."

"So you're here to make a deal," he murmured.

"Surely that is not surprising to you," she answered. She leaned against the counter. "Dragon scales are very powerful, and quite necessary no matter what path you decide to take. I have plenty to spare."

"As do I."

Maleficent nodded. "I'm sure you have plenty on your shelves. But you and I both know that the fresher the better. Those have been crushed up and labeled oregano for the better part of the last 30 years or so. Not very helpful, not for what you want."

Rumplestiltskin pondered her words. "And what do you want in exchange?"

Maleficent smiled grimly. "Knowledge and a little bit of help, of course."

-PotW-

Emma seethed as she put the final touches on the bookshelf. She was going to be late to her stakeout. She glanced out the window at the source of her frustration. Robin was out there with Henry and Roland, kicking a soccer ball back and forth between the three of them. There he was, having fun and playing with Emma's son, and there she was, cleaning up his mess.

But of course, he always got the things she wanted. Like actually having a good relationship with Henry. Away from the Merry Men, Robin was actually a good father. While Part of Emma knew she was being irrational, another part (the Dark One part, she was sure) relished hating the man just because Henry liked his company.

Emma pushed the thought away, knowing (hoping) it wasn't hers. California was far from Storybrooke, and life was better here, but not perfect. The Dark Ones still spoke to her from time to time. She couldn't see them anymore, didn't have any strange visions of the past, and could occasionally sleep. The voices and frequent bouts of insomnia were a part of her life though.

As was her title of breadwinner. Robin's job made for a more comfortable living, but Emma's bounty hunting brought in most of the money. Bounty Hunting was far more lucrative around here. A lot of people ran to California for the lifestyle they thought they wanted. It kept her busy, and they lived a very comfortable life. Robin, though, got the glory because he bought the more interesting things. The fun things.

Henry was even taking lessons on how to surf. He'd been so excited when Robin said he'd paid for the lessons already. Never mind that Emma paid his school fees and bought his soccer uniform. Robin was the hero because of the surfing lessons.

Still, she didn't have time to dwell on that. With the mess cleaned up and the bookshelf built, she had another job. Business was lucrative because there was so much of it. For someone who couldn't sleep, that just meant she had plenty of time to take more contracts.

Tonight's was going to be particularly difficult. The guy she was after had a bad reputation for beating women. That was part of why she was so eager to take the creep down. His wife called in every debt she had to post his bail, and he ran, had a string of girlfriends that always ended with him beating and leaving them. Rumor had it, he had a date that night. She was going to catch him before he could continue with his pattern.

Emma made her way downstairs to her room. She grabbed her gear and got ready to head out. She passed by the refrigerator, forcing herself not to look at the picture Roland drew in his… whatever class he was in. Pre-school or kindergarten, she wasn't sure. But no, she dare not look at the happy family he drew, with him and Henry standing between Robin and Regina, and Zelena beside them all, holding his sister. Emma was nowhere in the picture.

It didn't bother her, she told herself. Roland wasn't her kid, she wasn't part of his family. Of course she would not be in his family portrait. She was not upset.

Regina stopped her by the door. "You can take a night off, you know," Regina chided.

Emma shrugged, not daring to look at her. "Yeah. Not tonight though. This guy needs to be caught. I can't just sit around when he's loose. I have a bad feeling about tonight."

Regina frowned behind her. "What do you mean you have a bad feeling?"

Emma turned. "I don't know. I kinda feel like someone is gonna get hurt tonight. Not like broken nail kind of hurt. Hospital kind of hurt. Probably the woman he's going out with tonight. This creep needs to be behind bars." She looked at the clock and cursed. "I gotta go. I want to be in place long before he gets there. See ya."

"Emma!" Regina called. Emma met her gaze. Regina hesitated. "Be careful."

Emma smiled crookedly. "Sure will."

And then she was gone.

-PotW-

"You can't use your hands," Henry corrected for what felt like the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes.

"Try to listen to Henry, Roland," Robin added.

Roland giggled and nodded, but Henry knew well enough that he had no intentions of following through on the rules. He was frustrated, but was also trying hard to be patient. Emma had been patient enough with him when she taught him about baseball in New York. He was trying to show the same patience now.

"Emma!" Roland cheered, pointing to the blonde as she walked out of the house. He waved, but Emma didn't appear to be aware and made her way to the Bug without looking back.

Henry watched her go, worried. All she ever seemed to do lately was work. She often missed family meals to build things around the house. She offered to teach Henry a few times, but he always made excuses. He was just not ready to let her be his mother again, not yet, not after everything.

He wanted to, though. He missed Operation Cobra, he missed her easy laugh, he missed her silly jokes. His missed his mom. He would try harder, he decided. She was trying, so he would try. The sting of her lies, built up over the years that he had known her, were hard to deal with, but he was sure he could manage. She'd lied about believing him, about his father, about Camelot—so many things. He hated being lied to.

He also hated how she always tried to do everything herself. He was a hero too—he could help if she would just take the time to tell him what was going on. It seemed that her asking for help getting the dreamcatchers back was a one-time deal, as she had not asked him for help again.

But just like with his other mother, he knew he could not hold on to his anger forever. Yes, the next time she was home and working on some new project, he would ask her to teach him. Henry nodded to himself, pleased with his plan.

"Henry!" Roland called. "Let's play!"

Henry looked back to the boy and smiled. "Okay, Buddy, try to get the ball into the goal!"

-PotW-

Snow cooed at Neal as she finished changing his diaper. "How's my handsome little man? Hmm? How are you?" She tickled him; he giggled up at her, reaching out. Snow laughed and lifted him in her arms. "There's my big boy, there he is. Come on, let's go see Daddy. Do you want to go see Daddy, Neal? Good idea, let's go see Daddy."

She carried him downstairs, rubbing his back as she went. He babbled at her, content. She smiled and nuzzled the side of his head with her nose. Peace and quiet and family. It was really all she ever wanted.

It pained her that her family was so fractured. Her daughter left, taking a large part of their family with her. Regina was determined to support Emma and refused to be left behind, taking Henry with them. Robin, of course, followed Regina, taking his own children. Zelena, though not considered part of the family, also tagged along to be with her daughter. Snow thought that maybe she was just waiting for a chance to kidnap the babe, but so far everything had been relatively calm.

What a mess. How strange that peace and quiet was the exception and not the rule, that expecting a woman to kidnap her child seemed perfectly normal. Worse, there had been nothing but peace and quiet in Storybrooke for the three months Emma had been away. Even Rumplestiltskin seemed to be behaving himself. It made Emma being gone worse, somehow. Emma said that everyone would be better off without her, and she had been right.

But she had her husband and she had her son, and that would be enough. It would have to be enough. No matter how tired she was—Neal hadn't slept through the night once since his sister had left. She'd tried telling Emma as much a few weeks after she'd left, but her words fell on deaf ears.

Snow finished strapping Neal into his car seat, gave his belly one more tickle, then moved around to sit in the driver's seat. "Daddy's at work, my little man, but Daddy forgot his lunch. Let's go take him something to eat, okay? Okay!" She gave an exaggerated nod he couldn't see, and started the car.

-PotW-

As the acting Sheriff, David had an awful lot of paperwork. More than he'd originally thought. With no major crises, he believed (perhaps foolishly) that everything would slow down. As it turned out, he still had plenty to do. There was work to do every time Pongo ran off and he was called out to find him. Budget reports. Various other memos and reports that were driving him mad.

When he looked through the files, he found that Emma was surprisingly good at keeping up with the paperwork, and had made a variety of shortcuts. For instance, she had a template for when she had to chase down Pongo saved on her desktop. Really, all she had to fill out was the date and time Archie called in and when and where she found Pongo. Everything else, all of Archie's information, the description of Pongo and everything else, was already filled out and walked a fine line between generic enough to fit any situation and specific enough to satisfy any auditor.

It was truly a shame he had only discovered that gem the week before. Pongo ran off at least twice a week.

And there was actually money left over in the budget when she'd been in tenure. He wasn't sure why that was surprising. Given how lazy she sometimes seemed, David thought the worst of his daughter. Now, placed in the role she'd carried and done so well in, he was forced to change his perception.

He felt guilty. It wasn't that he thought his daughter truly lazy. He'd seen her work out every morning when they lived together. He'd seen how quick she was to chase down someone on the run. It wasn't that he thought she was unintelligent, either. He'd seen her work miracles on a computer. He'd seen her plans, no matter how terrifying and hare-brained, work out time and again. It was just that, well, she did not act like a princess.

So yes, he felt guilty for often thinking the worst of her, for wondering what she would have been like if he had ben able to raise her, as he so desperately wanted to do. That was all impossible now, and probably for the best. Emma's absence was keenly felt, but he was determined to be a good Sheriff to Storybrooke and a good father to Neal.

Emma giving him the password to her desktop helped. Her files were a veritable goldmine in making his life as Sheriff easier. Who knew the Excel program was so useful? Or that Emma was so adept at using it?

Snow slipped in just then, and David smiled at the sight of his wife and child. "Hey," he greeted softly.

"Hey," Snow smiled back. "You busy? I brought lunch. I figured you need a break."

David nodded and leaned back. "Yeah, something like that. I think I may have to hire a deputy. I don't remember it, being in a coma and all, but I don't know how Graham ran everything for 28 years with no help."

"Well, it was basically the same day set on repeat until Henry came, so for a long time there really wasn't much to do." Snow shrugged and shifted Neal in her arms to David could hold him.

"Hey, Pal," David said to the infant, taking a tiny hand in his. He would never get tired of these moments. He smiled up at Snow. "And how was your morning?"

"Long," she sighed. "He took a nap, so I took a nap before cleaning a little. Then I realized you forgot your lunch, so here we are."

David nodded. "I love our little guy, but his little sleeping problem has become ours." He looked down at the boy and gave him a tired smile. "You don't have to share everything, you know."

Snow gave a breathy little laugh and leaned against the desk. "Agreed. I think maybe he can feel how upset we are that Emma left and that's why he's not sleeping."

David considered this, bouncing his son in his arms. "Maybe. You don't think he misses her, do you? I mean, she didn't spend much time with him."

Snow winced. "Because we didn't let them bond," she admitted and looked away for a moment. "But I think it makes more sense that he is picking up on our feelings. I think we are going to have to do better with that. You know. Our feelings about Emma."

The man looked down at the babe in his arms, who stared solemnly back up at him. "I think our little man understands more than most babies do. You're right." He sighed. "We'll have to do better. Emma left and she's not coming back anytime soon. I think we are going to have to leave that part of our life behind."

-PotW-

Emma sipped the bitter brew. It was cold. She needed a better thermos for her stakeouts. That or she needed a break from stakeouts that lasted from just after seven to nearly midnight, maybe even not decide to be in place over an hour early in case he changed his pattern.

She perked up—they were finally walking out of their dingy little hole. The man, she'd taken to calling him the Creeper, had his arm around the woman's thin waist. It was pretty easy to get the wheel lock in place once the Creeper went inside. She'd considered going in to get him then, but then she'd seen his date through the window. A frightfully pale and worn woman. She had the look of a woman who hadn't eaten properly in some time. Let the creep pay for her meal. Emma could get him after.

And now he was finally on his way out. The Creeper was grinning, the woman holding tight to him, her steps unsteady. Emma would bet her last paycheck the woman was tipsy if not flat out drunk. Great. That made everything so much messier.

Deciding to get it done sooner rather than later, Emma slid out of the Bug and walked casually across the street, thankful for the lack of traffic in this corner of the neighborhood. Just as the Creeper opened the passenger side door, Emma tackled him, taking him to the ground with an ease born of practice.

It was far easier than she'd been expecting. The woman just laughed about the whole thing and watched. Emma wasn't sure if it was because the woman realized who she'd been on a date with or if she was so far gone that everything was funny in her drunken haze. Either way, it didn't matter. It was not safe to leave the woman on her own. Emma would have to take the Creeper to the station and then she'd have to take the mystery woman home before she could go back to the Mills-Hood residence.

She pushed back that mocking voices that asked if it should be the Swan-Mills-Hood residence before reminding her that there was only one Swan there, compared to the three Hoods and the three Mills'. No, they agreed, Mills-Hood indeed. Only one Swan, one who was barely home, one they were better off without.

Emma ignored them and got the cuffed Creeper and the tipsy woman into her Bug. She had more important issues to address than the remnants of the Dark Ones.

-Potw-

Regina was absolutely not panicking. Yes, it was nearly one in the morning. Yes, Emma was a grown woman and fully capable of taking care of herself. No, Regina was neither her mother nor her keeper. But she still worried.

Worry was not panic, she reminded herself, looking at the clock. Another minute had passed, but still nothing from Emma.

"Really, Sis, your aura is ruining my chi like always, so give it a rest. Your swan will be back soon enough," Zelena informed her crisply.

Robin sighed. "I fear I must agree with Zelena in this matter. Emma has been out later than this and you never worried. If you won't rest, will you at least explain your worry?"

Regina scowled for a moment. "Emma said she had a bad feeling about tonight."

Robin did not seem impressed, but it was Zelena who scoffed. "Really? That's why you are keeping us awake like this? Emma said she had a bad feeling? As if the blonde blunder had never been wrong before." She looked disgusted. "She probably got lost." Zelena stood. "I'm going to bed."

Regina watched her sister go, unwilling or perhaps unable to let the matter rest. "I'm going to call her," she decided, pulling out her phone.

"Regina, please," Robin started. "This is madness. It is far too late, and Emma is a grown woman, fully capable of handling herself." His words echoed her thoughts as he took her hands. "Let this go. Come to bed. The children are asleep, and they have the day off of school tomorrow. I promised Roland we could go to the park. We should get some rest. We will be ill-prepared to deal with our children in the morning if we don't get any sleep."

Robin pulled her to the stairs, Regina reluctantly allowing it.

At 2:30 in the morning, Regina slipped out of bed. Emma still had not returned. Her stomach in knots, she grabbed her phone. This was absurd. Madness. She would call, Emma would chuckle and make a comment about stopping for a drink (though she knew Emma wouldn't, Emma never drank anything harder than Bud Light anymore) and she would be home soon.

Sighing, Regina swiped down on her phone and pressed the picture of Emma.

-PotW-

Emma yawned as she made her way down the stairs. The Creeper was locked up and Marla, his date, was now safely ensconced in her shabby apartment in an unsavory part of town. Emma giggled as she made her way down the sidewalk. Unsavory. Regina would be proud of her for using a word like that.

She had just reached the curb where she parked when she heard it. A groan covering a whimper, the rustle of clothing. She turned slowly, listening hard. A sniffle and an incoherent snarl. Something was wrong.

Frowning, Emma stepped closer. It was well after two in the morning, and few people had a good reason for being out this late, let alone in an alley. She picked up a rusted pipe. Not exactly her gun, but this would do.

"—wearing a skirt like that, you know you want it," a man hissed, grinding up against the woman he had pinned to the alley wall. That was more than enough.

Emma didn't stop to think. "Hey!" She snapped. The man froze. "Get away from her." No one moved. "Now!"

The man looked over, his hand on the other woman's bared stomach. "Move along, Baby, 'less you wanna join the party."

"Let her go," Emma said slowly, bringing the pipe up to show she had a weapon. The man seemed unimpressed. "I've already taken in two punks in the last 24 hours. I'm sure my friends at the station would be happy for me to bring in a third."

His eyes narrowed. "You think you're a real hero, huh? Think you can intimidate me with a few pretty words you made up. Get out of here, you dumb b—"

Emma swung, but he ducked, pushing the other woman away. She whimpered and staggered, trying to hold her shirt closed. Emma twirled the pipe like it was a sword and brought it back in another arching swing, catching the man on his left shoulder. He collapsed, clutching his shoulder and moaning. "You just stay there," she told him, looking back at the woman.

Seeing her holding her shirt closed, Emma immediately pulled her jacket off. The cold night air nipped at her, but the shivering woman needed the protection of red leather more than Emma did. Slowly, slowly, she offered the jacket. The woman took it with shaking hands, eyes untrusting and wide with fear.

A sound behind her—Emma whirled, swinging the pipe and slamming it into the man's head, sending him crashing to the ground. She stood there, confused. What happened? She swayed and turned, the motion unsteady. The woman looked at her, looked at Emma's side, then screamed. Or, Emma thought she did. Emma couldn't hear anything except for a light buzzing in her ears.

The woman ran, arms flailing. She was wearing Emma's jacket, she noticed. How did she get that? Wasn't Emma wearing it? She looked down. Red. There was red all over her stomach and side, but it was not from her jacket. There was something in her side—ah. A knife. So that's what all the fuss was about. A knife. She'd been stabbed.

Emma looked up. The woman was standing in the street, arms waving and sometimes pointing at the alley. She staggered, leaning heavily on the filthy alley wall. She slipped down, down, down until she was sitting. Emma stared at the woman in the street. One of the lights flickered on across the street. The buzzing was louder.

Emma giggled as she watched the frantic woman. "I'm gonna die," she muttered to no one, blood on her lips. It hurt to talk. She thought she saw a car pull over, or a flash of light, sparks from the power lines maybe, but she wasn't sure. Everything was so blurry. "I'm gonna die jus' like I lived." She choked, blood dribbling down her chin.

Her head lulled to the side. Her chest heaved then stilled. The light dimmed from her eyes. Silence. Stillness. Just dark as the streetlights flickered out.

In her pocket, Emma's phone started to ring.

-End Episode One: Parting of the Ways-


	3. Episode Two: Fare Thee Well

Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time or the characters therein.

 **Trigger Warnings** : Addresses major character death.

Outside of Fate

Episode Two: Fare Thee Well

It was a beautiful day out. The sky was clear, the sun was bright, the breeze both gentle and soothing, not at all the crisp bite one would expect in mid-December, even if there was no snow to be seen. Christmas was coming up too, much to the delight of the children. Yes, it was a truly lovely day, apart from the eerie silence that encompassed the town. Most inhabitants were not home or at work, though it was not a holiday. No, there was a much more solemn reason for their absences.

A parade of mourners made their way through the cemetery of the quaint little town of Storybrooke, Maine. Many carried roses, but six, the pallbearers, carried the coffin. It was solid oak, painted white with a curious crest. Strangers to the town would not understand the peculiarity of the white coffin. She was the daughter of Snow White and part of the White Kingdom, so of course the coffin was white. Her father's crest was painted on the top. Regina suspected Emma would appreciate that more than the white coffin.

She could almost hear the blonde now—"does it come in red?" She'd ask, tugging on her red leather jacket with a mischievous wink. She'd give Regina a sly look and a smirk before Snow could interrupt with a lecture on the White Kingdom. She'd endure the lecture, but not gracefully. No, she would roll her eyes, sigh, tap out mindless rhythms on her knee, possibly doodle if a pen and paper were available.

But that was impossible now, when she was gone forever.

Regina recalled attending many funerals, some to her delight, and others filled with mourning. Having been to so many, she had stood over many coffins, saw the peaceful repose of those who had drawn their final breaths. Emma's face did not seem peaceful in death. It never seemed peaceful. Not when she was awake or asleep. No, Emma had led a hard life, and it was reflected in the lines of her face. Her jaw was set like she was about to argue, the corners of his lips pulled down in a frown. No, not peaceful at all. Battle worn. Angry. Not serene, not restful.

That, to Regina, made it harder. If she looked at peace in death, perhaps Regina could trick herself into thinking that Emma had some measure of peace in her life. Perhaps with Neal, or in New York with Henry. Especially at the end. Even with the insomnia and what amounted to paranoid schizophrenia, she'd hoped Emma found peace. Her hardened expression in death made that doubtful.

Looking at her made it hard to breathe, something she had not experienced since Daniel had…. No. She was not going to think of that.

"Regina?" A little voice asked.

Regina looked and knelt down by Roland. "What is it, Sweetheart?"

"Why is everyone so sad, Regina? And why is Emma sleeping in that box?"

She went very still for a moment before looking around. Robin was nowhere to be seen. She sighed. She was more than ready to accept Roland as her own son, to love and care for him, but she was not quite ready to explain something to him if Robin had told him something different.

"Roland, Honey, Emma is… not sleeping. Emma died." She winced, her words callous to her ears.

"What's died mean?"

She swallowed. Taking a deep breath, she took his hands in hers. Where was Robin? This was his son, and she was not supposed to have this conversation with Roland. Still, she could not bring herself to lie, not about this, not about Emma. "Emma saved people, Roland. And sometimes, when she went to save people, she got hurt."

Roland nodded. "Daddy told me that he gets hurt sometimes. He says that it's part of helping people. One time he got shotted with an arrow in his arm before I was borned, but Mommy took care of him. My Daddy always gets better when he gets hurt."

"That's very true. But sometimes people get hurt and they… don't get better. That's what happened to Emma. She was hurt, very badly, and she wasn't able to get better. Because Emma couldn't get better, she died. When a person dies they… well, they aren't alive anymore, so they can't walk or talk, they can't open their eyes or think. Emma isn't in the coffin, Roland, her body is. Emma isn't in her body anymore."

"If Emma isn't in her body anymore, where is she?" He asked, perplexed.

"I don't know," Regina admitted. "I would like to think that Emma went to Paradise, to a land where she is always happy and there are no bad guys."

"Emma wouldn't like that," Roland stated with a huff. "She would get bored. She would want there to be bad guys to chase."

Regina couldn't stop the slightly hysterical laugh that bubbled up from her throat. "Then Paradise is a place where she gets to chase as many bad guys as she wants and she never gets hurt."

Roland seemed to agree with this, and nodded happily. His smile slipped away. "Regina?" He asked. "Am I gonna leave my body?"

Oh dear. She really was not prepared for this. "Someday, Roland. Everyone leaves their bodies eventually."

His eyes widened. "Daddy is gonna leave his body?" He asked in a panic.

"Not today," she promised quickly. "And not anytime soon. But one day, when you are much, much older, yes. We all will."

"Even you?"

"Even me."

A beat. "And when we leave our bodies, we go to Paradise? So I can see you and Daddy again?" He gazed up at her.

No, she wanted to say. Roland would not see her in Paradise. If she saw him in the afterlife, then something had gone terribly wrong. She was certain there was a special place saved for her, and it was not in Paradise. "You will see your Daddy there, yes. But remember, that is not for a long time."

Roland nodded slowly. "Okay." He leaned against her side, holding her hand. "Regina?"

She swallowed. "Yes, Dear?"

"Do you think, if I drew Emma a picture, would she get to see it in Paradise? Maybe if we hanged it on the wall at home?"

She pushed away her ache and forced a smile. "I think she would love that."

Roland nodded, having made a decision. Regina forced herself to take slow, silent breaths. She'd never had to have this conversation with Henry. People didn't die before the Curse broke. By the time he was old enough to need it, he already understood what death was and meant, so she'd never needed to talk with him. With Roland it was different. He was not her son, and he was far too young to truly gasp the permanence of death. And, of course, she dare not bring up Marian.

Regina walked with Roland and the other mourners, looking for Robin or Henry or the Charmings, even Maleficent. She also knew the woman Emma had saved, Miranda Oaks was her name, was somewhere in the crowd, but she had no desire to speak to her. Lily was sure to be somewhere in attendance, having known Emma longer than anyone else in the crowd. Yes, Maleficent it made sense that she would be in the crowd somewhere, too. And Regina needed one of them. Someone, anyone, so she did not feel so terribly alone as she mourned her best friend.

Finally, finally, she saw Robin. He was scowling at Zelena, who held their daughter. She was, surprisingly, as solemn as the other mourners. It was strange. She knew Zelena and Emma had not gotten on, even after leaving Storybrooke. To see her now, actually showing respect instead of mocking Emma, well, it was a shock. She wondered how long her respectfulness would last before she starting making snide comments. Hopefully long enough for Regina to mourn a little and collect herself; she feared how she might respond if Zelena did not exercise caution.

Nearby, Henry stood with Snow and David, staring blankly ahead. Regina did not hesitate to lead Roland closer to their family. She took Henry in her arms and kissed his forehead. He nodded to her, then over to Robin. Understanding, if feeling a little hurt, Regina stepped back to stand with Robin.

"Regina," Robin greeted, then kissed her cheek. Regina sighed and leaned into him. He wrapped a comforting arm around her. Still, she could not help but feel empty, even in her lover's arms. Regina closed her eyes, as if doing so would let her trick herself into thinking she was somewhere, anywhere else.

The speeches were starting, but Regina refused to look at them. She'd wanted to speak for Emma, but Snow had gently told her that there were still so many who would not appreciate her standing up to speak. She hated them, but she hated that Snow was right even more.

-FTW-

As Belle listened to the many speeches about Emma, she couldn't help but feel they were untrue.

Belle would be the first to admit that she did not know Emma very well. She spent much of Emma's first several months in Storybrooke trapped in the asylum. After, there was so much time spent apart on different quests. Belle was often sidelined in favor of research while Emma was always in the thick of things. Part of her resented that, being relegated to research. There had been many occasions where she had proved herself, but she was always kept to the side. She knew it was not Emma's fault, but it still grated on her nerves. So no, they did not spend very much time together.

That did not mean Belle was blind or unobservant.

Rumplestiltskin was a man with few tells, and she had learned quickly to read between the lines with him. She needed to—her life was on the line when she was bound as his servant. It was a skill she applied to others, though no one seemed to recognize her ability.

It was how she knew Regina was genuine in her quest to change and be a better person. Belle was able to, not quite forgive her, but certainly accept her attempts to change. It was how she knew Hook was false in his. She would never accept his apology or attempts to persuade her that he had changed. Her trust was never placed in him, but in those around him; she trusted Emma's trust in Hook, though that had backfired terribly.

And Rumplestiltskin… ah, her husband. Pity she had let love blind her. She had chosen not to see Rumplestiltskin's betrayals because she wanted to believe he was a better man, that marriage to her had been enough.

When she was not blinded by her love, though, she could see quite clearly. Because of that, she knew Emma quite well. She'd watched Emma's interactions with others over the years, sporadic as those sightings were, saw her walls go up and down around very specific people. Belle saw her in those rare moments when the town was not in a panic, when Emma was alone with her thoughts, eyes distant and lonely. Yes, she knew Emma quite well.

So to hear others soliloquizing about Emma's love of life and all things good, of her unbridled hope, of her giving nature—carefully censored for the woman she had saved, Miranda Oaks—made her feel ill. Emma used to steal. Emma used to lie. Emma used to be a criminal. Emma's only regret about her thieving days was the fact that she was caught—something Emma confessed to Belle during one of their rare research sessions, she knew this to be true. It was true that Emma only stole to survive, but it was equally true that she did not regret stealing. She was giving, yes, but Belle suspected it was less about benevolence and more about wanting acceptance and approval.

Belle considered her thought for a moment. Perhaps she had been spending too much time with Dr. Hopper. She was officially psychoanalyzing others. She sighed. She didn't want to be that person.

"You too, huh?" A voice whispered.

Belle looked over, startled. It was that woman, the one Emma knew before she came to Storybrooke and broke the curse. Lily. Maleficent's daughter. She was a dragon, like her mother. Having married the Dark One, Belle was not in a position to judge.

"Me too, what?"

Lily looked amused. "You can see that they're all talking trash," she said, nodding to the latest speaker. David. Emma's father. He was talking about Emma's defense of Justice. That, at least, was not blatantly false. Not entirely wrong, but not entirely true either. "They think that if they focus just on the really good stuff, people will forget the bad stuff. Like how she always argued with people, or did things her way no matter what anyone said, how she broke the laws left and right when she wanted to, or hell, how she became the Dark One. If Emma was alive, she'd be so pissed."

"I didn't know her that well," Belle deflected.

Lily gave her a knowing look. "Don't pretend to be dumber than you are. You're not the kind of woman to be trained like that, least of all by the likes of him." She jerked her head to the left, where Belle knew Rumplestiltskin was standing. She refused to look. "I know your type. You see a lot more than you let on."

Belle looked at her, really looked at her. Yes, there it was. The coldness that Emma carried, accompanied by knowledge born of experience. There was a harder edge to this woman than Emma ever had, but she could see how they would be friends, once.

"The same could be said for you, I think."

Lily smirked. "Yeah. But I'm background noise. Just the troublemaker that Emma knew for a little while when we were kids. Most of these people don't even know my name."

"That's not true, Lily," Belle denied.

"Oh yeah? Then why have so many people here called me Rose? Petunia? Pansy? Pretty much every flower-related name but mine?"

Belle winced, not quite sure how to deny it. "Well…?" She trailed off, helpless.

Lily smiled bitterly. "Don't worry. It's been like this my whole life. The only exception was Emma, but she never did like liars, and unlike what these people seem to think, she could hold a hell of a grudge."

Belle's lips twitched unwillingly into a smile, despite the solemnity of the occasion. Lily was not at all the person she expected. She was sharp, yes, but there was a wisdom that many were blinded to, likely because of her lineage. She forced away her amusement and turned her attention back to David's heartfelt speech about the daughter who sacrificed all that she was, time and again, for those she loved.

"This guy just doesn't get it," Lily whispered. "Seriously. I barely spent time with Emma when we were kids, and even I had her figured out better than this clown did after knowing her for… however long he's known her. What a joke. And he calls himself her dad."

And Belle, who only partially understood the depth of Lily's knowledge, could not find it in herself to argue. After all, before Lily had approached her, she herself had been thinking about how false David's words sounded.

Lily was an interesting woman, one Belle thought she might like to know.

-FTW-

David finished speech, proud that he kept his voice level, and stepped down. The others were nodding their agreement and holding loved ones close. Emma would be missed. It soothed him, a little, to know his daughter was so loved by his people—by her people. He kept his head up, determined to be strong for their people, even if he was not a king in this land. No, he would stand tall. He would not bend beneath the weight of his grief.

From the corner of his eyes he saw a flash of darkness edged in white. He looked up, but saw only the green of the grass and leaves. Nothing more. He shook his head and returned to his wife, taking her and their son in his arms, holding them close and mourned his daughter. Now was a time for family, for love, for recognizing what was lost and what he still had.

So, standing with his family, he looked up at the tombstone. A lioness rearing back, one paw out as if to strike some offender, ready to defend the innocent. It was fitting for his daughter. David nodded, not happy, but satisfied.

Not long after, the line of people came up to offer condolences. Miranda Oaks, the woman his daughter saved, walked up. Part of David resented her for being there, for making him pose as her brother-in-law instead of her father. But then she came up and, eyes lowered, offered him a familiar red jacket. Emma's jacket. Apparently, Emma had given it to the woman that night.

He took it, still resentful, but pleased to have this part of his little girl back.

-FTW-

Rumplestiltskin watched Belle and Lily talk, sharing little smiles, as David finished his speech. He frowned. Having talked with Maleficent the week before, he knew the dragon's plans. And, knowing Maleficent as he did and how her mind worked, he was also sure her hatchling was chatting up Belle for similar reasons. It was a classic move, one he should have anticipated. Address all possible sources of information. Still, he didn't like it. He did not want Belle to be tangled in whatever mess Maleficent and her dragonet were going to create. As a former Dark One, he knew magic. Knowing magic, he knew dragons. Knowing dragons, he knew it would be messy.

He forced himself to turn away, lest someone see where his gaze rested. He turned his attention back to the service. Henry, his grandson, had stepped forward with all of the decorum of a prince. Fitting, considering the boy's lineage. He grabbed the shovel, hesitated for a long moment, then tipped the shovel over, letting the dirt fall on the casket.

Emma Swan's grave was next to Bae's. Henry insisted. He wanted his parents to be together. No one wanted to fight him. Well, perhaps Snow White would have wanted a more impressive tomb for her daughter, something befitting a princess of the White Kingdom, even if it was an unspoken truth that she would never ascend to the throne, that honor going to her infant brother. In this world, though, all of that pomp and circumstance was irrelevant. Especially for one as crude as the so-called savior.

With the ceremony finally over, the crowd began to disperse, many going over to offer condolences to the family that barely knew her. Sheep, all of them, he thought. How logical, since their king was a shepherd. With the mindless rabble vying for attention of the mourning royals and the dragonet back with her mother, Rumplestiltskin took the opportunity to approach his estranged wife.

She went very still when she caught sight of him approaching. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin with pride. There was his girl. He almost smiled. Something told him she would not appreciate the sentiment, however.

"Belle," he greeted. He waited for acknowledgement.

Her manners won out, as he knew they would. "Rumple," she returned.

"I see you've made a new friend," he said, nodding to where Lily now stood with Maleficent. They were talking with Regina. Henry was still with his grandparents, shaking hands and nodding along even though he was undoubtedly unaware of what platitudes people spewed around him.

"Lily," Bella agreed. "She's quite nice. Very aware. Smarter than people think."

"Oh, I've no doubt about that," he murmured, watching the dragon. "Their kind tends to be. Belle, be careful. Maleficent and her dragonet are dangerous. More than you might believe. They are the worst sort to tangle with."

"Worse than you?" She returned.

"I deserved that."

She didn't argue. She would have, once. Now she was silent. He was unsure of what to make of this change. It was so unlike her. But that fire in her eyes, that he knew well. He'd never seen it directed at him, though, not like this. Normally she looked at him with a very different sort of passion.

"I won't tell you what to do, Belle," he began.

"Good, because you don't have the right. You're not my master, not any more and not ever again," she answered firmly.

Rumplestiltskin shifted, uncomfortable. He was not quite sure how to continue. This Belle was a changed woman. Not bitter, but… something else. Something he could not quite put his finger on.

"I just wanted to offer you a word of caution," he pled.

"I don't need or want to hear any of your advice," Belle dismissed. "Now, please excuse me. I am going to go offer my condolences to the family." And then she was gone.

Rumplestiltskin watched her go. He watched the cricket lightly touch her shoulder and whisper something to her. He couldn't pull his gaze from her until he saw her approach first Henry and then the Charmings. Angry, with himself more than anything, he turned away—and caught Maleficent's eye. She was smirking at him. He scowled and turned away. The damn overgrown lizard never knew when to keep her counsel. She was always interfering in his business.

-FTW-

The day, Snow felt, was both too long and too short. She stripped off her coat, unsure what to do with it. She needed something to hold onto, and her jacket would have to do while David undid the straps on Neal's carrier, careful not to drop Emma's jacket. Snow watched them, almost leaping forward to help when one strap caught on Neal's foot. David didn't notice, focused on the task before him.

Having retrieved his son, he gently set Emma's jacket on the counter and turned to his wife. Snow stood, staring at the empty carrier as if it held the secrets to the universe. His hand was heavy on her shoulder, startling her out of her daze. She looked up at him, confused.

"I should get started on dinner."

"Snow."

"You must be hungry after everything."

"Snow."

"And we have so much to do. You know, later."

"Snow."

"I'll make Neal a—"

"Snow!" He stepped in front of her, stopping her mid-rant. "Snow," he said, softer, kinder. "Don't do this." He swallowed. "Don't lose yourself. Please. For me, for Neal. Emma wouldn't want you to do this to yourself."

A breath. "I…" She turned away. "It's different this time. We kept sending her away, again and again, but there was always the promise that she would find her way back to us. She wasn't really gone. I had, I had hope. Now…"

Snow felt him pull her closer to him, their child babbling between them. All day long she had fought to be the strong queen, to control herself, to keep her tears at bay as the people of Storybrooke looked on. Strength and courage—she would make the White Kingdom proud. And yet, safe in her husband's arms, looking down at her son, her surviving child, she was filled with regret.

"Did we fail her?" Snow asked no one, not really expecting an answer.

She received one, regardless. "I don't know," David answered honestly. "It feels like we did," he admitted. "It feels like, if we held on a little tighter she would never have slipped into the Darkness, and if that had never happened, she would not have left. She never would have been there to…"

"Save that woman," Snow said, her voice cold and distant. "I'm glad," she whispered. "If Emma had to die, I'm glad it was as a hero, and not a villain. I want her back, but if I can't have her, I'm glad this is how… how…"

And the dam finally broke.

Snow was not sure how it happened, but she found herself in a heap on the floor, David wrapped around her, their son in her arms as she sobbed. Her breath came is short, harsh gasps, her body wracked with tremors. Neal wailed, unsure why his mother was crying as she was. David did his best to soothe his family, but he himself mourned his daughter.

There was an unspoken divide between them. Snow had been Emma's friend as Mary Margaret, and the pair had travelled across the Enchanted Forest together. The bond between father and daughter had always been strong, however, and easily seen in the odd similarities of two people who could not have grown up more differently. His blood was strong, that much was certain.

But the child they never raised was gone, taking part of their love with her.

It was an hour or more before the little family could move. Snow put Neal in his crib before setting to work. She was a woman on a mission, determined, unyielding. Snow opened up the first of three boxes containing Emma's belongings while David took her jacket to her old room. For well over an hour, she stoically sorted various photos Emma collected over recent years.

There was also the file of Emma's life. There wasn't much, only the articles about her discovery, and how no one found a home for her. A picture of an older couple, holding Emma between them and smiling. The Swans, she guessed. The pictures that followed were few and far between until her life in Storybrooke. Still, Snow sorted them all. She kept some, but organized the rest for Henry. There were even a few she set aside for Regina.

She had to stop when she opened the second box. Emma's baby blanket, freshly laundered and well cared-for, sat on top. It was too much. She wept until there were no more tears left in her. Eventually, David had to close the box before he picked her up and carried her to bed, holding her close. Sleep, for them, was elusive. Neal, for the first time in months, slept through the night.

The following morning, Neal was wrapped in Emma's baby blanket.

-FTW-

Henry looked ahead toward the setting sun but saw nothing. He simply sat on the deck behind his house, the deck his mother built, and stared. Trees rustled, but all he could see was his mother using an old handsaw to cut the boards, muttering about measurements as she built a deck for the Evil Queen.

Except, his mom wasn't the Evil Queen anymore than his mother was the Savior. Right? When she became the Dark One, she gave up her role as the Savior. Only, she still did an awful lot of saving as the Dark One. It didn't make any sense. She made horrible choices, yes, but nothing truly evil.

He'd talked with Violet after everyone's memories were returned. She'd admitted to having her heart when she broke his. Emma had kept her promise to return it. And he understood why she did it—a strange part of him was honored that he was key in saving Merlin. At the same time, he balked at his mother's choice to rip out Violet's heart to begin with.

A week ago, he was not sure he could reconcile the two matters. He was not sure he could completely forgive her. He tried to talk about her with his mom, to try and understand his feelings, but he always had the impression his mom understood Emma better than she let on, that she was keeping secrets from him. It only fueled his righteous anger. A week ago, he had determined he would try harder to understand, to forgive but not forget.

A week ago, she had been alive.

A week ago, the opportunity to reconcile was still there. He could go up and talk to her about anything he pleased. The weather, her latest projects, what she thought they should have for dinner (if she decided to join them). But all of those chances were gone. And he hated her for that. Hated her for dying. Hated her for not being stronger, faster. Hated her for being a hero.

Mostly, though, he hated himself for not giving her a chance sooner. Hated himself for not fixing their relationship, for letting his mother die thinking he still hated her. He hated himself for being blissfully unaware that night, lying snug in his bed and thinking about Marla, a girl in school and his plans to ask her out. His mom had been up, knew something was wrong. His mom had tried to help Emma while he tried to work out the mechanics of approaching a girl that had no idea fairytales were real.

Yes, Henry Daniel Mills hated himself.

He would have to be better, but how? He would have to become a hero. His mother may have been the Dark One, but she still died as a hero. As her son, he should become a hero, too.

"Henry," a soft voice drew his attention.

He looked up. "Mom," he greeted. Without a word, he slid over, making room for her on the seat. He'd not really sure what to say, at a loss for words, so he says nothing.

Regina, however, seems to have plenty to say. "Henry, I don't know what you're feeling, but… it's okay. Whatever it is. It's okay to feel that."

Henry nodded, but didn't reply. His mind was elsewhere. He needed to be stronger. Faster. Better. He needed to be a hero, a warrior. Maybe Robin could teach him archery? And Grandpa was Prince Charming—he would probably teach him how to use a sword. He could always practice by himself, like he tried in Camelot. That might work.

His mother took his hand in hers. He looked down. He wouldn't look at her. Not yet, not yet. He squeezed her hand, though, to thank her.

"Michael called me earlier," she offered quietly. "He said he will keep the Bug and maintain it for you. For when you are older. He said it is in pretty good condition, even if it has so many miles on it. Emma did a good job maintaining it."

He started to shake.

"I'm not particularly fond of you driving that yellow d—" Regina cut herself off abruptly.

"Deathtrap," Henry finished, his voice hoarse to his ears. His lips twitched a little, but he fought the urge to frown. "You used to call it a deathtrap all the time. You hate the Bug."

"I do," she agreed. "I will, however, let you drive it when you are older. It belonged to your father and mother. It's yours."

That brought a strange peace to him. Not owning the Bug, per se, but having a piece of his mother, an important piece. One she shared with his father. It was a bit like having both of them again. Not really, but it was a nice thought.

Sighing, Henry finally let himself lean against his mom. It was a relief, one he hadn't known how much he needed.

"Memories," his mother said suddenly. "They are very powerful, Henry. You can choose to focus on your happy memories or your sad memories or your angry memories. When I was younger, I focused on those that made me angry. I thought about Daniel's death, and my mother and… so many other things. You don't have to do that, Henry. You can choose to think of other things, happier things. You can think about Operation Cobra. You can think about New York. You can think about her bad jokes, or her terrible fashion sense, or anything you want."

Henry laughed, but smothered the sound quickly. He was not supposed to be happy.

"It hurts, I know. Right now, it hurts so much you can't imagine it will ever get better. But it can, Henry. Time does not heal all wounds, but it does dull the ache. You will miss her everyday, but you can still find happiness for yourself."

Silence.

"I never forgave her," he admitted. "Not really. I wanted to, and I was going to try harder to, but I couldn't."

Regina nodded. "I understand. It was hard for you to forgive me, too, wasn't it? Emma and I, we both hurt you. It was hard for us to work together at first, but we worked it out. We make a good team. We are—were good friends."

Henry nodded. "You love each other." He looked ahead, not seeing anything before him. He looked back to his mom, who only looked uncomfortable. "You moved to California, Mom. And she made sure you had everything you wanted while we were there. You love each other. I used to not get it. Your friendship. But I think I do now. I think you two understand each other better than anyone else. And because you did, you wanted the other to be happy. Right?"

Regina held him close and nodded. "Yes, Henry. It infuriated me, how well she knew me. And yes, I did love her. In my own way."

He smiled and closed his eyes. "She really did tell the worst jokes. They were awful."

They laughed quietly together as the sun set.

-FTW-

Her eyes hurt. That was her first thought.

The sun shone brightly overhead. She closed them against the light and turned away, shielding her eyes with her hand. After a moment, she forced one eye open and squinted into the distance. It took a long moment, but she was able to see what lay ahead.

Ahead, across the plains, stood a castle. It perched on the edge of a cliff, overlooking water. A lake? The sea? The ocean? She didn't know; she had no idea where she was. The castle, though, had seen better days. One tower had collapsed in on itself, and the west side (how did she know it was the west side? The sun was directly overhead) was worn away to nothing. She could see archways, but there were no doors.

Behind her, the grass stretched for miles alongside the rocky cliff. There was nothing. Just crisp greens and blues. She could not even see a tree, and that struck her as odd. More strange, the colors were more vivid than she knew they should be.

Not seeing anything else to do, she walked toward the ruined castle. Hopefully she would figure out what, exactly, was going on. Or where she was. That would work too. Her luck, if luck truly existed, held. She saw three people standing together up ahead. They sat on one of the fallen walls. As she approached, she could see them better. Two women and a child, from the look of it. One woman had short, dark hair, and the other was blonde. The boy was thin and dark haired.

The woman approached the odd trio. She stood before them, eyes looking them over as they examined her in turn. The dark haired woman had a stern look about her, but she also wore a strange set of light armor. It was faintly familiar, but she could not quite place it. The blonde wore a white flowing gown that cut off just below her knees. The boy wore a white tunic, belted at the waist, and breeches. Neither the blonde nor the boy wore shoes. The women were grim faced, but the boy smiled warmly at her approach.

"Hi," she greeted awkwardly, unsure of what to do. The woman herself wore a curious white gown that she could not help but think was unsuited to her, though she did not know why.

The dark haired woman nodded a greeting. "We've been waiting." Her voice was low, raspy, melodic.

"For what?" The woman asked.

The boy answered. "You, o'course. The Fates brought you here to Dun Scaith Castle t'be trained." His words came in an excited rush, something fitting his youth. He nodded, looking up at her with eager green eyes. The woman shifted, uncomfortable under his gaze.

"Trained for what? Huh? I'm… confused." She didn't know these people. Why would they be waiting for her? And why would they need to train her?

The dark haired woman scoffed. "I rather imagine you are. I am Scáthach. This is Aífe," she nodded to the blonde, "and Connla," she set her hand on the boy's shoulder. The woman, Scáthach, offered no further explanation. Instead, her dark eyes were examining the newcomer closely.

She nodded, trying to see if she could recall the names. She couldn't. The look Scáthach gave her made her feel like a trespasser. "I'm…" she trailed off, wincing. "Passing through?"

Scáthach rolled her eyes then turned cold eyes back to her. "You have no idea who you are," she informed her crisply. "We all know it. Except for you, apparently. It's why you're here. It's part of the deal. They, the Fates that is, wanted you to be a blank slate. More easily crafted into a warrior, I gather. Truth be told, we don't know who you are, either. We're just here to train you. Pulled from our own rest, mind you. You should be grateful."

She looked at them, puzzled. "I am, I guess." She had not idea who they were that she should be grateful. "If you were resting, then why are you here now?"

"Y'don't listen," Connla said, amusement in his eyes. "They brought y'here to be trained at the Fortress of Shadows, like many others. We are some o'the greatest warriors that ever lived, and even in death, we remain so." He squirmed where he sat. The boy looked giddy at the prospect of a new companion.

"Okay. So I'm here to be trained. For what?" The woman asked. None of this made sense. She had a particularly hard time believing a child could be considered a great warrior, but the idea did not seem impossible. She'd seen stranger things, she was sure—she just couldn't remember them.

"Who can say?" Scáthach asked, blissfully unaware of the woman's rambling thoughts. "No one really knows what the Fates have planned, in life or death. Seems that, whatever happened—and no, we don't know, that's why we were chosen to train you—they were not satisfied. So they sent you here. To us."

"I'm dead," the woman sighed. She'd known that. It was something she had not said, not even in the shadows of her mind. "Okay." She shrugged. Somehow, she was certain that having a discussion on training in the afterlife, even if she did not know what she was training for, was not even a little strange to who she used to be. That one of her teachers was apparently a boy of about seven wasn't even so strange. "So if you can't tell me what I am training for, can you at least tell me my name? Or do you not know that either?"

The blonde, Aífe, shook her head in bemusement, but it was Connla who answered. "We know yer name," he said with a mischievous grin. He leaned forward, and for a moment the woman thought he might topple off the wall. "But we can't tell y'that either."

"Great," the woman muttered. She smothered a flash of annoyance. It would do her no good, not here, and he was only a boy. "Okay, fine. Let's do this. Not much else to do. Where do we begin?"

The three dropped from their perches on the wall. The blonde, Aífe, who had not spoken a word, landed silently, while Scáthach and Connla landed with heavy thumps. Behind them, the castle, Dun Scaith, began to rebuild itself. The woman watched, amazed, as stone by stone the building returned to its former glory.

Scáthach wasted no time, though, and gave her a look that promised she would not like what came next. "Well, I imagine death has softened you up a fair bit, unlike me. Let's work on your stamina, shall we? How about some laps, aye?" Her eyes were alight with glee.

-End Episode Two: Fare Thee Well-


	4. Episode Three: Squire

Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time or associated characters.

A/N: I tried to make this story platonic and keep relationship stuff in the background or non-existent. It didn't work. Emma and Regina ship themselves. This is an extremely slow-burn SwanQueen. The pace will grate on your nerves, I'm sure, but I have woven (what I believe to be) a delicate story that takes time. I have to get everyone where they need to be. Currently, I believe I've done that (I'm writing episode 12 now), but time will tell.

Outside of Fate

Episode Three: Squire

Running was easy. Lifting stones was easy. Pull-ups, which made the woman oddly excited, were easy. Training was easy. There was no anger, not when she could run for hours and days and never notice. And, being dead, she did just that, she was sure.

These things were much easier than thinking—thinking was hard and painful. She would wonder what her name was, if she had a family (she felt sure she did not, for if she had, she would be with them in death), what she was like in life. She wondered if she had friends or a lover. She did not know.

Her thoughts brought loneliness, undercut by a simmering rage. With that loneliness came a wanting, a yearning for something she could not see. It was almost like the longing she felt when she saw Scáthach, Aífe and Connla sitting together, like the family she knew them to be, like the family she did not have. No, thinking was painful. Thinking allowed the nasty voice in the corner of her mind to offer unwanted opinions, and she wanted no part of that.

Better to run, she decided—it was safe and comforting. She often fell while she ran, feeling terribly unstable for some reason. She felt like there was something missing. If she had it, she would not feel so unbalanced.

Even if she did not know who she was or how she died, she knew that running was comforting. That was troublesome. Oddly, it felt like there was a joke in that—her not knowing who she was. She didn't think it was funny, but Scáthach did.

"Maybe the joke is that you don't remember?" She offered one day. Scáthach often made wry comments.

The woman scoffed but did not answer. She didn't want to think about such things. She did not find the joke, if indeed there was one, very funny. The woman pushed it from her mind in favor of running. That, at least, felt familiar to her.

-S-

Rumplestiltskin sat in his shop, staring at the books before him. He read then reread the same paragraph he had been trying to focus on for the last hour. His mind whirled, weighing his choices.

First and foremost, he had been working on his little project for months now, starting just before Emma Swan absconded with his grandson and his protégées. And the tree dweller, but he was a mere flea to Rumplestiltskin; Robin Hood was beneath his notice. The peon aside, Rumplestiltskin had invested far too much time and effort in his quest to simply set it aside.

However, he also had his relationship with Belle to consider. She was a good woman, and she did not deserve his treatment of her. She did not deserve his lies and the heartache that accompanied them. She deserved a better man.

Therein lay the problem. Rumplestiltskin knew who he was, and knew himself to be a coward as a man, and a monster as the Dark One. He had magic again now, but he was forever tempted to turn to the Darkness as he had before. His power was nowhere near comparable to what he had before, but his knowledge outweighed whatever power others might have. But the temptation…

He sighed, already knowing what he would choose.

"Forgive me, Belle," he murmured to the empty room. "I try, but you never seem to be my first choice." He sighed. "Perhaps, in time, that can change. Alas, not today."

A rattle in the back of his shop drew his attention. He looked up, frowning, then stood to see if anything was amiss. Rumplestiltskin glanced around, but everything was in its place. Still, he thought to look closer.

He glanced in a mirror and quickly looked back. He slowly reached up and grasped his jacket lapel as he started into the mirror. For the briefest of moments, he thought he'd seen Baelfire in the mirror.

-S-

Regina took silent steps down the hall, not quite sure what to do with herself at the moment. She had been in a sort of daze since Emma died, as if she was unsure of her place in the world without Emma there, watching her back and keeping her grounded. It had been a long time since she had felt quite this lost. Not since Daniel—

She stopped herself. No, she would not think of that.

Henry had slipped out early that morning, but texted her occasionally to let her know he was okay. Robin was also gone, having left a note saying he needed to help the Merry Men with some new task. She didn't know where Zelena was, but the baby was sleeping in her crib, so Regina didn't pay her sister any mind.

Roland, though, seemed to be having a lively conversation, and Regina wanted to know whom he was talking to.

"—and Regina explained that you went to Paradise. Do you get to chase bad guys there?" A pause; Regina's breath caught in her throat. "That's neat. But you don't get hurted anymore, right? I don't want you to get hurted." Another pause, this one lengthier. "Oh, okay. As long as you like it, that's fine."

Leaning heavily against the door, Regina tried to figure out what to do. Go in? Call Robin? If this were Henry, she would certainly go in and talk to him. Roland was not her son—and she and Robin had never discussed her role in his life. It was a conversation they needed to have, and sooner rather than later.

Roland's giggles drew her attention. "That's very silly," he was saying. "No, I don't think so." A beat. "What?" Another silence. "Maybe. I guess. What does that mean?"

Uncomfortable, Regina slipped back down the hall and grabbed her phone. She quickly called Robin. He didn't answer. Frustrated, she called again. Robin picked up on the third call.

" _Regina, I really can't talk now, the Merry Men are in quite a state of disarray. Sometime last night someone broke into the camp and stole—"_

"Roland is talking to Emma," Regina broke in.

A beat. _"What is he saying about her?"_

"Not about her. To her. Roland is having a full-fledged, however one-sided, conversation with Emma."

" _That's not possible, Emma is—"_

"I'm well aware of Emma's current state, thank you very much," she snapped. She winced at the silence that followed. "I'm sorry. I'm just stressed. Roland is your son. How do you want to handle this?"

Another pause, one that made everything terribly uncomfortable. _"I trust you to handle it. I really have to go, Regina. I'm sorry, but the Merry Men need me. You're a good mother—you can take care of Roland."_ And the call disconnected.

Regina stood, the phone still pressed to her ear, for a long moment. She lowered the phone. A good mother, he called her. "But not _his_ mother," she muttered to herself. She scowled. Well. Roland might not be her son, but she would care for him like he was. With that, she searched her phone for another number.

This time, the call was answered after two rings. _"Dr. Hopper,"_ the man greeted.

"I have a little problem," she said without preamble. "Roland is talking to Emma. No one is in the room with him and she is obviously gone, but he's been talking to her anyway."

" _You can bring him in, if you want,"_ he offered immediately. _"I have an appointment at noon, and that will last for about an hour. You can bring him in at any other time."_

Years of practice allowed Regina to hold back the sigh of relief. She glanced at the clock; just after eight. "I'll bring him now." Yes, that could work. They could get breakfast afterward and talk about whatever Archie figured out.

" _I'll leave the door open."_

She hung up and went to collect Roland. He was cheerfully drawing a picture of Emma and talking to the empty corner in his room about how neat it was that Emma fought a dragon.

-S-

Snow and David ate their breakfast in awkward silence. Waking to find Neal wrapped in Emma's blanket was devastating, and both wondered why the other felt the need to do so and cruelly deny it. Neal, sitting proudly in his seat and gumming a toy duck, was entirely unaware of the tension.

"Magic," Snow offered. David looked up. "Maybe it was magic. Maybe Neal has magic too, and he called it to him."

He looked at his son, considering it. He hoped not—he didn't want his son to be cursed with magic like his daughter. Still, his son having magic might be less tragic than his wife wrapping Neal in Emma's baby blanket while he slept and then denying it.

"Maybe," he nodded. "We can take him to Regina later. See if she has anything to say about it. Maybe she can figure out if he has magic."

David's phone rang, startling the couple. He looked at his wife, then at the phone. "Hey Robin," he greeted, answering the phone. He frowned, listening to the other. He glanced at Snow again before leaning back in his seat. "Huh. That is strange." He listened again. "Yeah, give me a minute. I'll get my gear and head your way." He sighed. "Sure. I'll be right there."

He hung up and rubbed his face. "Someone decided it would be a good idea to break into the Merry Men's camp and steal their supplies. They caused quite a bit of chaos. Set the horses loose, destroyed their weapons." He sighed, shaking his head. "So much for a bit of peace and quiet while we…" He shook his head more forcefully. "I gotta go."

David kissed his wife on the cheek and his son on the crown of his head, ignoring Neal's annoyed growl, before grabbing his gear and making a hasty departure. He never looked over at the blanket in his son's crib, the one neither he nor his wife could bring themselves to move. Snow watched her husband go, too tired and too worn to even say goodbye.

She was not sure how long she sat at the table, pushing her food around her plate, before Neal began to fuss. "Oh, Honey, hold on, Mommy will get you. Hold on my little man. That's it, okay. Let's go sit down over here, okay? Yes, there we go. Does my little man want to hear a story? Hmm? Okay, let's hear a story. Once upon a time, there was a king and a queen and who had a child, a beautiful little girl named Emma…"

He listened to his wife for a few precious moments, standing just out of sight. It warmed his heart, hearing her talk about Emma. It would be a long while, but he was sure they could heal. Perhaps, when Neal was older, they might have another child, maybe a boy for Neal to play with, or a girl for him to protect.

But thoughts of his future had to be pushed aside. For now, he needed to seek out Robin Hood and find out what, exactly, happened in the camp.

-S-

"What are we doing here, exactly?" The woman asked. They stood in some strange, dilapidated building some distance from the castle, one that was mostly stone and housed a raging fire, an anvil, and a trough of water.

"Training," Scáthach answered brusquely. The woman hesitated to ask what she meant; Scáthach rarely took the time to answer questions. She failed to see how a forge could be considered part of her training. Scáthach seemed to understand her thought, and laughed. "You don't really think I'm going to let you wield a weapon without having the proper respect for it, do you? No, you will learn to make a sword before I teach you to swing one. The first thing you need to learn is how to use the bellows."

The woman blinked once, twice. Scáthach had already walked away, though, and the woman could only follow her and try to pay attention to the lecture on fire and steel and the anvil.

At least the boy wasn't there. It wasn't that Connla was troublesome, it was just that he made her terribly uncomfortable when he followed her around, staring up and her and rattling on about this and that. She thought, for fleeting moments, that she knew him, or someone like him. But those moments were there and gone so quickly they barely registered. Still, she avoided Connla whenever she was able to.

She felt a little guilty for that. Connla was a very kind child, very polite, and that somehow made talking with him more painful. He was talented with a sword, though, so she had many sparring matches with him when Scáthach wasn't around to terrorize her about being able to wield a weapon. The boy was unsettling, yes, but when he could not be avoided, he was pleasant company.

-S-

Regina took Roland's hand in hers as they left Archie's office, Robin's daughter already snuggled into her carrier in her free hand. She caught Belle's surprised gaze—the younger woman was equally surprised to see Regina in the waiting room, but neither commented. They nodded an acknowledgment to one another, both very aware that they would never mention meeting each other here, for both of their sakes. Instead, Regina shifted her grip on the boy's hand, talked to Roland about breakfast and quickened her steps.

At breakfast, Roland showed Regina the drawing he'd talked about with Archie. Granny came by to take their orders, but her smile became noticeably more forced when she saw Roland's drawing. She departed quickly.

Roland chattered on about his best friend Emma, whom he was convinced was the real Emma. Archie seemed to think that Emma was an imaginary friend, one he had created to help him understand the concept of death. Regina had been relieved to hear his perception. The last thing she needed was Roland to hallucinate a dead woman, especially one so dear to Regina.

She took a moment to call Robin while Roland meticulously added a sword to his picture. Emma was even wearing her red leather jacket. She smothered a noise of frustration—Robin hadn't picked up. She checked on the baby, who was sound asleep, and trying calling again. Still no answer.

"There you are, little sis," Zelena crowed, sashaying up to them. "Oh," she turned to Granny, "I'll take a coffee. Black."

"Like your soul," the old woman grumbled, but went for the coffee all the same.

"Charming," Zelena dismissed and sat next to Roland. She smiled at the boy, who smiled back before turning to the baby. "Hello, Darlings. I see you have had a busy morning. How is my daughter?" Regina didn't answer. "Oh, come now. We're all family here, in our own way. We're sisters, this is my daughter, this is her brother. See?" She smiled mockingly. "Family."

"I think you and I have very different definitions of what constitutes family," Regina replied.

"Clearly. Otherwise you would value your big sister a little more than you do. As in, you might actually value me instead of despising everything about me."

"I don't despise everything about you."

"Name one thing you like."

"I don't like anything about you—I just don't despise your tenacity, however misdirected."

Zelena rolled her eyes and took a drink of her coffee.

"I drew Emma!" Roland offered, proudly showing her his picture. It was the perfect distraction, since Regina really did not want to acknowledge her sister at that moment. The Emma in the picture wore black with a stripe of red down her middle and a splash of yellow that might have been a star on her chest.

"Yes, I can see that. Is that her sword? What is she going to fight?" She asked with genuine interest.

And that set Roland off on a story where Emma was going to bring the villains to justice and keep everyone safe because she was a hero. And Zelena, damn her, nodded along and made the appropriate impressed murmurs and sounds as he talked. Regina was forcibly reminded that Zelena had convinced everyone she was Marian and had cared for Roland for a time. She was very good with him, proving that she actually could be a decent parent, if only she were not such a horrible person.

The former queen texted Robin, becoming more and more frustrated when he failed to answer her. They were going to have a very serious conversation later about parental responsibilities.

Her phone chimed, and she grabbed it, expecting a response from Robin. It was Henry, letting her know he was doing well and would be home for lunch.

-S-

"Hello, Belle," Archie greeted kindly as she same in.

"Dr. Hopper," she answered, smiling back.

"How are you?"

"Fine. Holding up better than a lot of others. You know, with Emma."

Archie nodded. "Emma's death hit all of us pretty hard, I think," he agreed. "But I was actually wondering how you were doing with everything in your life. Emma was important to us, but so are you. The issues you are facing are just as important as Henry's or Snow's or David's. So?"

She sighed. She felt almost like a little girl being scolded for not telling the truth. "I am still fine. I was speaking with Lily—Emma's friend. She's… not like I expected. Very smart."

"She's survived a lot," he pondered aloud. "I suppose, to make it that long, she has to be smart." He folded his hands on his desk. "So you talked to her? Are you helping her with something, or were you just talking."

Belle hesitated. "Just talking. About Emma. She thought Emma was not being presented accurately, I guess you could say. That the Emma they were eulogizing was not the same Emma we knew."

"And how did you feel about what she said?"

"I agree," she admitted. "I…" she stopped, considering her words. "I married the Dark One. I knew what kind of a man he was. I married him, knowing he was a liar and a cruel, cruel man. But I saw the goodness in him, buried deep. It's why I fell in love with him. He could be very funny and very kind. And he knew so much, and I can admit that was part of his appeal. His wisdom.

"But still, I have never lied to anyone, let alone myself, about his faults. I tried to convince myself that he was better, but I never denied they existed. Rumple lied and killed and he twisted people to suit his needs. He twisted me, I think. I know that. I don't deny it."

"And you feel like everyone was denying Emma's faults?"

"Yes." Belle shifted, uncomfortable. "I think that is wrong. Horrifying."

"Why?" He asked, voice soft, coaxing, accepting.

Belle considered her words. "Because that is dangerous," she answered. "We look at people, and we put them in boxes. We take people and we make them saints or monsters. We see only the good or only the bad. In doing that, we forget they are human beings. It is important to make men out of monsters, because if we don't, we fall into that trap. We can become monsters ourselves. It's like, if we forget that human beings do terrible things, we can forget we can do terrible things, and we become too complacent."

"And the same is true for greatness," he added. "If we think only princes and kings can do great things, we forget that we can do those things too." He tapped his temple. "So by not acknowledging her flaws, do you think they made it impossible for people to do the great things Emma did?"

"Somewhat? I think they made it so most people will always wait for someone like Emma to do something. We always depended on her for so much. Even if she was not the one to solve the puzzle, she was always part of the fight, and she always led the charge."

Archie nodded. "But why is that important to you?" Belle looked away. "You don't have to answer."

"I don't want people to judge Rumple for the cruel things he did alone—he did good things, too, and most people refuse to see that." Not a lie. Not the whole truth, but not a lie.

Archie, though, was silent. Not cruel or judging, but kind, patient. Waiting. He knew she had not told him the full truth. He was kind, but the silence was heavy, and she knew the only way to alleviate it was to speak.

Belle rubbed her eyes and felt her cheeks flush. "If they always look to people like Emma, they will never see what people like me can offer them," she finally admitted.

"And it's hard when no one sees you, when you feel invisible to everyone."

She choked, unable to stop herself. She wiped away a tear. He was right. It was very hard to be invisible. And really, Belle was in a position to know—she had felt invisible for a long time now.

"I think the question now, is what are you going to do about feeling invisible?"

-S-

Henry swung the sword. Or rather, he tried to. Mostly, he managed to lift the sword and barely managed to hold on after the blade tipped forward. He panted and worked to lift the sword again. It was too much—he lost his grip and the blade fell. For his part, Henry staggered over to a stump and sat hard, exhausted.

He'd been up with the sun and gone for a run. Emma used to run three miles every morning. Henry thought he could easily match her since he always did well with running the mile back in California. As it turned out, running on the track was very different than running down the street where he had hills and curves and distractions to contend with.

Henry managed to make it half a mile before he had to stop. Shame nipped at him. His mother ran a similar route in California every day. He couldn't even handle the quaint streets for Storybrooke.

Quickly deciding to try his hand at something else, Henry took off for the Troll Bridge. It was far enough out of the way that he felt sure he could get some training in there.

First, he found himself some rocks to lift. He figured, if he lifted them enough, he would get stronger. Heroes were strong. It was a splendid idea, and no one would ever have to know. Only the rocks were either too light to be any good, or too heavy for him to lift altogether. Henry howled his frustration and kicked on such rock, succeeding only his stubbing his toe.

The sword he'd hidden away months ago, back before his family left for California, was his only option, even if it was a little rusted from his own lack of care. If he practiced with it, he could build up his own strength. It would take time, but as he built his strength, he could also build his skill.

He wanted to go to David, to his grandfather, but he also knew he had to wait for the right time. David would not be willing to teach him now. Those lessons would have to wait. But archery was still a possibility, Henry decided, staring at the sword where it still lay. Maybe he was not meant for the sword. Maybe he was meant for a different weapon. A bow or spear or staff.

Henry groaned. Tracking. He would need to learn tracking. Hunting too, now that he considered it. Heroes had to be able to survive anywhere. He would need to study survival skills, too. He still needed to talk to his mom about riding lessons.

Frustrated, his head dropped. This wasn't fair—none of it was fair! He wasn't strong or fast or brave. He wasn't anything like what a hero is supposed to be. And none of that made sense, because he was the son of the Savior, the grandson of Snow White and Prince Charming. If anyone should be a natural hero, it should be him.

He remembered his mother's words, about being her hero, about saving her from herself and from the Darkness. That was all well and good, but how was he to save others when he did not have the skill? As far as actual heroes went, he was useless. And he knew it.

That was the worst part. He was useless. His mother was dead, had died a hero, had died without his forgiveness, and he was useless. Henry could feel his own impotence, and felt the uselessness of his paltry attempts to be better, to be more.

Disgusted, Henry decided he needed to talk with his mother. He sent a quick text to his mom and set off on a brisk walk.

-S-

Rumplestiltskin stared. He'd gone through his entire shop four times now. He'd seen Baelfire in the mirror, he was sure of it. So he checked everything, looking for what might have caused that reflection. His scarf, perhaps, or one of the wooden dolls—though they were Geppetto's family, not his son. But it was possible, surely.

Nothing. There was no reason for him to have seen his son's reflection. And yet he was sure it was no trick of his imagination. Was his son trying to return, to speak with him? No. Dead was dead. He'd proved that to Regina and the good doctor time and again. Even Miss Swan proved it, with her failed attempt to save the pirate.

" _Papa!"_

Hearing his son's voice, Rumplestiltskin leaped to his feet and began his search anew.

-S-

Regina perfected various facades over the years. Longing looks, charm, cocky triumph, smug superiority. All had a distinct style, and all had their own uses. Tranquility was the most recent necessity.

It hadn't taken much to get Snow to watch the children. Roland was a good boy, easily entertained, and both infants were down for their naps. That freed Regina up, at least for a short while. Long enough, she supposed, entering the Storybrooke Cemetery. But where to go—her father or...

"—but I can't seem to get it," Henry was saying.

Regina slipped to the side, unnoticed. She listened as Henry talked to his mother's grave.

"I mean, I don't know how you did it. How you could run so far and so fast, how you could swing a sword, how you were always able to just, I don't know. Never go down. Until you did." Henry made an angry, dissatisfied sound. "I have so many things I want to ask you, and now I can't. You're gone."

Hurting for her son, Regina stepped out, though he could not see her behind him. "I know I'm not the mother you wanted to speak to, right now, but I might have a few of the answers you are looking for."

The teenager turned to her, surprised. His eyes widened and flickered to the lioness tombstone, before turning back to her. "Mom. I, uh, I was just talking to Mom."

"I know you were, Henry," she replied, smiling, hoping to calm him. She took a slow step forward. "My offer still stands. I will explain what I can. I don't think Emma ever wanted you to know about her life, but I don't think she ever planned to leave you like this, either."

He seemed to consider her words very seriously for a time, before nodding slowly. Henry moved over to make room for her on the patch of grass he occupied. Regina sat beside her son on the cold ground, mindful of the disturbed earth around Emma's grave. The dirt hadn't settled yet, but when it did, Regina was sure Snow would add an absurd amount of flourishes. Emma was likely to have a garden growing over her.

She sighed, the December air crisp but not quite freezing yet. "So," she began, uncomfortable. "Where would you like to start?"

Henry shifted uncomfortably. "I don't think there are answers for a lot of my questions."

"Ask," Regina prodded gently. "I'll see what I can answer."

Henry nodded. "Okay. Why did she hate toasters?" He looked over at her. "I always wondered. She would buy them just to break them. And at dinner with Gram and Gramps, before we left, she said she had a thing against toasters. I never understood that."

Oh, of all the things for him to ask about, and right from the start. "Emma lived in many homes," she began. "No. Not homes, not really. Henry, you have to understand, that there were things at play that no one can truly understand, not in life and maybe not even in death. Those forces meant that Emma was sent to truly awful places. And I mean that, Henry. Awful places. The worst."

Regina looked at the lioness. She wondered if Snow and Charming realized how vicious the stone monument looked from this angle.

"One of those places would punish her when she did something wrong by putting her hand inside a toaster and turning it on." Henry looked at her in horror, but she forced herself to continue. "There are scars on her hands. Were scars." She swallowed. "They felt like calluses, so no one recognized what they were let alone where they came from."

The pair was silent for a long time.

"Stuff like that. It happened to her a lot, didn't it?" He asked.

"It did," she replied. "Emma and I talked a great deal about her life, her experiences. Everything she'd survived, every time her dreams were crushed. The Dark Ones were still in her head, and they were always talking to her. They twisted her mind."

"They did it with the truth," Henry inferred. "They were in her head so they saw her memories. They used that against her, didn't they?"

"Yes." Her voice was a whisper. "They did."

He nodded to himself. "Was that the worst of it?" He asked next. "The worst thing to happen to her when she was in Foster Care?"

"No," she admitted. Not even close, she wanted to say. She wasn't going to tell her son that his birthmother had been addicted to drugs because her foster family used to experiment on her, trying to find the right combination. That she'd sold herself at the family's behest to get those drugs in her addicted haze. He wasn't ready for that.

Henry sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I never forgave her. For Violet, for taking her heart and making her break mine. Even after we got our memories back, and I knew why she did it, when I saw that it freed Merlin, I still didn't forgive her." He shook his head. "Everything she went through, everything she survived, and she was always trying to do the right thing, even as the Dark One. She messed it up, but she was still _trying_.

"And here I am. You never sent me to bed without dinner, you always got me comics and games and everything. I never had to do the things she did. No matter what, I can't get things right. I can't be like her." His cheeks flushed red, though whether with anger or embarrassment she couldn't say. "I couldn't even forgive her for trying to do the right thing, even if she did it wrong."

Regina stroked his cheek gently before kissing his temple. "It's okay, Henry."

"No it's not," he argued without heat. "I messed up. She's dead and I never got to say the things I should have said. She never got to tell me her story. I'm learning about her, and all I can think is why she would keep trying so hard for people who don't deserve it? I wouldn't have.

"I'm angry at Gram and Gramps for not keeping her and actually raising her, even with the curse. I'm angry at the Swans for giving her away. I'm angry at you and me for not being there. I'm angry at Robin and Zelena for taking up your attention when you were the only one who ever seemed to be there for her. It doesn't make sense, Mom, but I'm so angry at everyone and I don't know why."

Regina held him. "It's okay to be angry, Henry. It's okay. That's the grief talking. It's okay, Honey, it's okay to cry and be angry."

But he didn't cry. It was as if there were no tears in him. So she held him. Regina rocked him like she did when he was little and ran to her when he hurt himself, next to his mother's grave.

-S-

Tired, sweaty, angry, she brought the hammer down hard, striking the molten metal at an odd angle with shaking hands. She growled. She was pretty sure she ruined it. This was the fifth piece she had destroyed. She hadn't been successful with anything she'd tried. She swore under her breath and snatched up the cool part of the metal, furiously hurling it across the room. Nothing could make this moment worse.

As it turned out, she was wrong in her assessment. Scáthach came in then, a man following her. Glorious. Scáthach had brought a friend to see her failure.

The woman stared at the newcomer suspiciously. He was tall, a little taller than her, with shaggy brown hair and blue eyes. He had a beard, too, one that looked to be in desperate need of being trimmed.

"I'll just leave the two of you to get reacquainted. Have fun, enjoy your chat. I'll be back later for another lesson. I trust you'll be prepared." Scáthach looked around the room at the woman's latest (and very poor) attempt to shape the metal in the forge.

"So, did I know you? Is that why you are here?" The woman asked. There was something familiar about him, something she could not quite place. It frustrated her, both knowing and not knowing him.

The man nodded. "Yes. In life, I had many names, Huntsman chief among them, but toward the end of my life, I was called Graham."

"Nice to meet you, Graham." She did not offer her hand and manners dictated, but continued to look at him. "Any chance you can tell me who I am?"

"I cannot tell you your name because it is one of the conditions."

"Conditions," the woman repeated blankly.

Graham leaned back. "I can only tell you so much. What I can tell you is that for some reason—one I can't imagine you will enjoy if it ever becomes known—the Fates have decreed that you are to be given the chance to win your life back."

"Who are the Fates, and what do you mean by win my life back? I thought dead meant dead and I was just hear to train." And make a fool of herself, but she did not say that out loud.

Graham nodded, seeming to relax as he talked. "The Fates, Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos. Nasty, all three of them, and not prone to kindness even to the people they like." He sucked in a deep breath. "And yet, here you are. When good people die, they go to the afterlife, to Elysia, Heaven, Paradise, whatever you want to call it. For Scáthach, that was this place—her home. Aífe and Connla joined her here afterward, though I think they both died before her.

"You, though, they sent here to be trained by some of the greatest warriors who ever lived. We are here to give you your best chance at life. I would be wary, though. I do not imagine they are giving you this chance as an act of kindness. I am unsure how the Fates benefit, though."

"Why?" She asked. "Why help me? What do you get out of it?"

"For Scáthach, Aífe and Connla, I do not know. Something, I'm sure. No one does anything for free. For me, it is also a second chance."

"You get to live again, too?"

"After a fashion. You see, I was not a good man. Some of my actions were controlled by another, but before I was enslaved, I killed for money. A mercenary without mercy. Since my death, I have been punished for my life.

"If you succeed, though, I will have won myself a second chance. I will be reborn. I can live again, though I will have no knowledge of this life. A clean slate." He leaned forward, eyes glittering. "So I am very determined to help you and to meet all of the conditions. Hell is not a pretty place, and certainly not one I enjoy."

"Wouldn't know, I've never been there," she shrugged. The silence that followed was incredibly uncomfortable and told the woman she could not have been more wrong in her assessment.

Graham coughed, uncomfortable. He nodded to the bent steel. "What is that?"

"Well, it's supposed to be a knife, but it's mostly a mess."

His lips twitched in amusement. "I can see that."

She shifted from one foot to the other. "I'm not very good," she admitted, "but I really like it. I like to work, to be busy and all that. It feels… normal to me. I think I used to make stuff when I was alive."

"What kind of things?" He asked sharply.

"I don't know," she grumbled. "I just know I like to make stuff here, even if I'm not very good. I feel like metal is weird though, like whatever I used to do, metal wasn't part of it."

"I see," he answered, nodding slowly. "Well, I should let you get back to work."

"What are your other names?" She asked suddenly. "Graham, Huntsman. What else?"

"Mercenary isn't enough?"

"No. Not if we are supposed to work together."

He sighed. "I was raised by humans who could shift into wolves. As such, I was given a wolf name. You can tell no one—only Pack is allowed to know."

She smiled crookedly. "You can give me a name. I don't have one."

"Why not?"

"I suppose because I never had a family to give me one. Closest I have is Scáthach, Aífe and Connla. Scáthach doesn't call me anything, Aífe doesn't speak at all, and Connla is the same as Scáthach."

He stepped closer. "If we are to work together, we could be like Pack. I can give you a Pack name, but I will only use it when we are alone. Likewise, you can only call me by my name when no one can hear. Agreed?"

She offered her hand solemnly.

"Patchfur," he stated. "My Pack called me Patchfur because I never shifted into a wolf, so my 'fur' was patchy." He looked at her, waiting for her to laugh. She didn't, only nodded her acceptance.

"I'm gonna call you Patch around others," she stated firmly. "It suits you better than Graham or Huntsman."

"That is acceptable," he agreed. Then he stepped closer, invading her space. The woman didn't move. He smiled, satisfied. "Rogue Hunter," he decided. He waited, as if this name was supposed to mean something to her. It didn't. "That is your Pack name. Shall I call you Rogue in the company of others?"

"Rogue?" She asked. That name… it was so odd. Familiar but still distant. She had a brief flash, a vision, of a picture of a girl with a white stripe in her hair in some kind of book. A boy… there was a boy. He was holding it? No, none of that made sense. She shook her head and the image was gone. "Hunter would be better. And funny, since you used to be called Huntsman."

"Hunter it is," he replied.

"So, Patch, why are you here now? Why not wait until it was time for me to go questing or whatever?"

"I wanted to," he answered, and would say no more on the matter.

That was fine. She didn't have very much to say either. Instead, she went back to trying to use the forge, and he simply sat back and watched, pale eyes glittering coldly in the firelight.

-End Episode Three: Squire-

A/N: I apologize for the delay in posting this. I was working ahead, and doing quite well at editing and making sure everything lined up the way I wanted it to. However, my father passed away, and first I was dealing with that, and then I lost the desire to write. I cannot promise that my updates will be very quick, but I am operating beta-free and still trying to deal with Real Life. Regardless, I would love to hear what you have to say.

Cheers,

Bandy


	5. Episode Four: Strange Happenings

Outside of Fate

Episode Four: Strange Happenings

David stood next to Robin and the Merry Men. For three days they had searched for any sign of the missing supplies or any sign of who might have raided the camp. Still, for all their work, they found nothing. No trails, no clues, not motive—no reason for anyone to steal from the Merry Men.

"And you can't think of anyone who might have a grudge? No particular king you had a vendetta against?" David asked for the sixth time that day.

"Only the Sheriff of Nottingham," Robin replied, his answer unchanged, "and he is not here. For all of the traveling between realms we seem to do, he has never accompanied us back to your fine town."

Frustrated, David ran his fingers through his hair. "Okay then. Alright." He set his hands on his hips, reaching absently for his gun as though it were his sword. Content that his gun was there he let his hands drop. "I'll head back to the station to check for any new reports of anything missing. It's a long shot, but it seems to be our only option right now. Until then, do what you do best."

Robin nodded. "Very well then. My men have already doubled their patrols, but we will see what else we can do."

"Add more lookouts," David suggested. "Maybe move camp. There are a few places that are more defensible than this."

"Indeed, but they would sacrifice easy access to water and food," Robin returned. He gestured to the camp. "That is why we chose this place. We were not looking to build a fort, but rather a home."

David nodded his understanding. "Understood, but that does not seem to have worked out. Maybe you should consider moving into town. I'm sure Regina can find a place for your men."

Robin stiffened. "While I love Regina very much, and she holds a great deal of power here, I am not wholly dependent on her as so many seem to think."

"Of course," David said quickly. "I just figured she knew the town well enough that she would know the best places for you to set up. I mean, she created Storybrooke, so…" David trailed off, unsure.

"Indeed. Perhaps I will speak with her later."

David nodded, but didn't think Robin had any intention of talking to Regina about it. That was none of his business, however. He had his own family to care for. Robin could handle this.

So, staying out of the other man's business, he nodded. "I'll keep you updated with anything I learn," David offered. Then he turned and left. That woman, Miranda Oaks, was still in town, and he needed to make sure she was not causing trouble.

-SH-

Having decided that getting to know his birth mother was the best course of action for the moment, Henry went to her house. Not the loft, or to her room in the mansion, but to the house she lived in when they first came back from Camelot.

It was quaint, like he remembered, but more open and spacious than he would have guessed. Not nearly as extravagant as the mansion. But then, his mother's taste, whether as the Savior or the Dark One, had never been extravagant. Knowing her, she probably would have chosen a smaller home so she would have less to clean.

Ah, a wicked little voice whispered in his mind, but you never really knew her at all, did you?

And that was the crux of the matter, the reason he was standing there. She hadn't been to this house since their trip to the Underworld. It sat, unlived in, for some time. But he was there, now, to see what secrets it held—if any. He hoped he would find something, some insight into the woman who was gone.

He walked up—the door was unlocked, but there was an odd tingle when he touched the doorknob. Magic. That made sense. He opened the door and went in. He explored slowly, methodically. He found many things he expected.

There were five toasters in a supply closet. All new. She did that in New York. He winced. She would take one out after a bad day and dismantle it. Stress relief, she always told him. He understood now—and he hated it. He hated that he hadn't understood then, that he had missed the signs, he hated that he was useless even when times were easy, hated himself.

Henry moved throughout the house, eventually going upstairs. He found her room. At least, he assumed it was her room. It was the most Spartan room in the house. There was a bed and small chest of drawers. A little nightstand with a lamp and a clock. That was it. It could be a guest room, he supposed, but that seemed unlikely. Her bedroom in New York had been just like this. She only slept and dressed in her room, so she didn't keep much there. He would be surprised if it wasn't her room.

Irrationally, it made him angry. It was so neat, he thought for a moment she might walk up behind him with a quiet "hey kid" but there was nothing.

"I hate you," he mumbled, stepping forward and touching the bedside table. "I hate you," he said a little louder, more firmly. He began to seethe. "I hate you," he snapped, swiping out at the lamp. It crashed to the ground, the shattering sound satisfying. "I HATE YOU!" He bellowed, grabbing the table and yanking with everything he had.

"YOU ALWAYS LEAVE ME!" He pulled the blankets off the bed, pulling and pulling and tearing the sheet he was holding. He caught sight of the chest again. "ALWAYS SOMETHING MORE IMPORTANT, ALWAYS ANOTHER JOB!" He jerked the drawers out—they were empty, but that did not deter him. He slammed one down, stomping on it, kicking it, trying to break, to destroy it. "DID I MEAN ANYTHING AT ALL? JUST SOMETHING TO GIVE AWAY AND NEVER LOOK BACK ON?" Another drawer met its end. "A CHORE! I WAS JUST A CHORE!" Yet another drawer. "I NEVER MEANT ANYTHING TO YOU!" The last drawer, there was nothing left in the room to destroy. He turned to the door. "I HATE YOU!" He snarled as he stormed out.

He went to the next room, desperate for more destruction. He froze. This room was bigger, but that was not what made him stop. The room was covered in comic book memorabilia. Movie posters, comic book posters, shelves lined with graphic novels and figurines. All Marvel, which was his preference. His mother liked DC, Batman in particular. He remembered many debates on Batman versus Iron Man, whom Henry felt were the same, only Batman had less character development than Iron Man. Except Batman was nowhere in this room.

The Avengers took center stage here, along with select X-men. Mostly, there was the Hulk, one of his favorites. Captain America, Iron Man and Wolverine took up their share of the walls and shelves, too. The bedspread was a tasteful hunter green, the walls, or what could be seen of them beneath the posters, were white.

There was a little figurine of Rogue, one of the X-men. He liked her character, the mutant who didn't have a real name (he refused to believe it was Marie; the name didn't suit her at all) but could kill anyone she touched because of her mutation. Emma liked her more, liked her because she didn't have much in the way of a family, liked her because she was a criminal who worked hard to redeem herself. Henry thought she was okay, but she wasn't even close to his favorite. That was probably why there was only one of her, a small figurine close to the bed, likely to watch over him.

And then he saw it. Hanging innocently over his bed was a dreamcatcher.

"I hate you," he choked, sliding to ground. He brought his knees up to his chest and finally let himself cry. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," he sobbed. He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.

-SH-

The woman, Hunter—only Graham could call her Rogue Hunter, but Hunter served well enough for the rest—was in the smithy. Graham was not there. He was off with his guide, a lone wolf that accompanied him everywhere.

She had long found she was driven to make, to create, anything she could. When she wasn't training with Scáthach and Graham, she was in the forge. She liked the work, now that she was practiced enough to have an idea of what she was doing.

She never told them, but the heat of the forge and the hard work seared away some of the anger that burned in her, and the hissing and popping drowned out the nasty voice that liked to whisper about her comrades in arms. She was forever shoving her anger to the side. She didn't know why she was angry, so best not to acknowledge it. No, it was better to work.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been working. Time was different for the dead, so she had no idea when she had actually come to Scáthach. It felt like months or years to her—it was certainly long enough for her to master her work in the smithy. Connla explained once that she was not even in her own time.

She'd been streamed (and that did not make sense—did time stream?) to Scáthach's preferred time. She was not in the land of the living, but Heroes who died were allowed to dwell where they were most comfortable—for many, that was their own time. For Scáthach to train her, Hunter was sent to the time where Scáthach lived, in a sense. They were dead, certainly, and she had not actually time travelled, but she was in the distant past all the same. It was all very confusing, and there was more to it, but she hadn't bothered to learn what Connla tried to explain.

After a final strike, she rushed to cool the blade one last time. A breath, then she drew the sword from the water. Hunter held it up and smiled. This. This was her sword. And oh, but it was beautiful. The blade was black, but there were speckles throughout, many forming patterns she couldn't quite name. The blade was short as far as swords go, and would require her to get closer to her opponent than another sword might. It was far from a broadsword, but razor sharp and deadly.

The hilt was a piece of art, too. The cross-guard was designed like a set of wings, splayed wide and curving just so, providing a bit of protection for her hands. The feathers faced out, each sharp enough to cause damage to anyone foolish enough to cross swords and try and lock her, hilt to hilt. The grip was sturdy and solid. The pommel was rounded but there was a five-petal flower etched deep into the hardened steel. She liked the flower. It was the same flower inked into the skin on her left wrist.

She twirled it experimentally. It was perfect. Yes, this was indeed her sword.

"It's beautiful," a new voice boomed warmly.

Hunter whirled, bringing the sword to bear. The man who'd entered only smiled at her, white teeth gleaming. He had copper colored skin, his dark hair short, the curls greedily clinging to his head, but turning showed braids down his neck and back. It was the same for his beard. A gold circlet, something like a crown, rested on his brow. He was bare-chested, but he wore a skirt of some kind, tied at the waist.

"Who are you?" She demanded. Fear of the newcomer brought her rage to the fore. It pulsed through her, ready to destroy this man.

He looked amused and spread his arms wide as if to show he was unarmed. "Why Sister, I am Gilgamesh, King of Uruk." His grin did not change, giving him something of an oafish look.

She frowned. "That supposed to mean something to me?" She wondered if she was supposed to bow. She was so bad at anything etiquette related; her terrible manners had driven Aífe away more than once.

He laughed, a booming sound. "I suppose not. I am like you, Sister."

She frowned at him, confused. She may not remember who she was, but she was confident she would remember if she had a brother. Especially one with a name like Gilgamesh. She was also sure that, nearly half his size, he was nothing like her.

Paying her confusion no mind, he sat in the chair Graham usually sat in when he watched her work. He was much bigger than the other man, though. Bulkier. The chair strained under him. "I have come to help you."

Hunter lowered her sword. "You wouldn't be the first," she muttered. "Not sure why everyone keeps coming out of the woodwork to help me. Well, most of you." Graham she understood. He wanted another chance, like she was going to get for whatever reason, and that made sense. "What brings you here?"

"Others will come because they will gain something. I came because I wanted to help you, Sister." He shifted, and the chair creaked dangerously under him. "Could you perchance craft a seat, Sister? One that can bear my weight?" He rubbed the back of his thick, well-muscled neck, having to reach under the black braids to do so.

She looked him over again. He was huge. "I think you're gonna have to find yourself a boulder."

He blinked, then roared in laughter again, slapping his knee. "Perhaps, perhaps. If I were to carry one here, could I sit with you? Talk? Learn more of you, my Sister?"

This guy was a weirdo, she decided quickly. "Perhaps," she echoed. She really just wanted him to leave.

"Consider it done!" He bellowed cheerily, and left.

Silence but for the faint crackling in her fire.

"What the hell was that?"

-SH-

Snow had not been able to find David at the Station. She'd taken Neal to see him for lunch, but he was absent, likely with Robin again. Since Emma's funeral, he had become very single-minded about finding whoever robbed the Merry Men. It had taken all of her willpower over the last few days not to point out the irony of the situation.

Deciding her husband would likely not be available any time soon, Snow set off with a different destination in mind. If she couldn't see David, she would see Henry. Her grandson was growing so fast, and she was hesitant to miss more than she had to of his life, not when she'd missed so much of Emma's. So focused, it never even occurred to her to call ahead.

It was a short drive to Regina's mansion, though it felt strange. She had not been to Regina's home in so long. She had not been back in Storybrooke very long—Snow knew she was still moving back in—and before that she had been on the other side of the country. She had not been back since that last, fateful dinner that ended in disaster and Emma deciding to leave Storybrooke, leave her family.

Snow hadn't quite forgiven her for that, but knew she and David were partially to blame. Still, it was a hard pill to swallow. All of them carried some responsibility in the destruction of their relationship, Emma with her secrets and stubbornness, Snow and David with their refusal to give in and hope again, not so soon at least. But it seemed the one time they dare not hope was the one time they should have, for their actions lost them their daughter. A hard, bitter pill indeed.

She parked in the short drive and got out. She hummed a little tune for Neal as she pulled the fussing babe from his seat. She sighed. He'd been like this for days. He was finally sleeping through the night, but he was so fussy in the day, kicked and squirming and sometimes screaming if she or David held him too long. Snow settled him comfortably on her hip, but he only grunted in dissatisfaction.

He made a sound like a growl by the time she knocked on the door. She lifted him up, rubbing his back soothingly, but he wanted no part of it. He started to push away. She knocked again. Finally the door opened. Regina's face was drawn and worn, her eyes tired as she looked up.

"Are you okay, Regina?" Snow asked, shifting her fussing son.

The woman sighed and rubbed her face. She gestured for Snow to come in. Frowning, she followed. Neal began to whine in her arms. She bounced him a little, trying to soothe him. It didn't help. It hadn't helped in a long while. "What's wrong?" She asked.

Regina waved a hand. "I had an argument with Robin earlier. Nothing particularly serious."

Snow nodded. Regina only liked arguments when she won them. She frowned when Neal reached out for the other woman. Seeing Regina's eye light up a little when she looked at him, Snow offered the boy to her. Regina took him easily and nuzzled his hair with her nose. The older woman relaxed as he cooed at her, and that made it a little easier to see him calming for a woman other than his own mother.

"Anything you want to talk about?" Snow asked innocently.

Regina scowled at her. "If you must know, we argued over the children. I commented that he should stop wandering off to help the Merry Men and leaving his children behind. He responded that I, more than anyone, should appreciate the need to care for my people before my family, as I was a queen."

Snow could appreciate both sides. As a queen herself, she knew she was responsible for her people and was to put their needs above her own. It was idyllic, she knew that now, but it was something her father convinced her of when she was very young. On the other hand, she was a mother too, twice over. She had not been able to raise Emma, but she still had Neal. He depended on her for everything, like her people, but he was of her blood, her body. He was her son. He would always have priority—how else could she ensure her people would be cared for in the future, if she did not protect their future king?

And Robin was a leader. He was not a king, but he was responsible for guiding and caring for the Merry Men, who followed him as if he were their king. It was much the same, in her mind. Snow sided with Robin in the matter, though she wouldn't say it. After all, hadn't she given up her daughter for the good of her kingdom? For the eventual freedom of her people?

"It doesn't matter," Regina was saying to herself. "He is their father and I… am not their mother." She collapsed into her seat, exhaustion in every line of her face, but never disturbing Neal, who toyed with a button on her blazer.

That Regina said so much told Snow knew how exhausted she truly was. Fully energized, Snow knew she would experience more of her biting wit than tired admissions. That, above all, was the most worrisome.

"Have you tried talking to him about it?" She asked gently, as if talking to one of her more skittish birds.

Regina did not even bother to look up. "Of course not, Snow, we never talk. Robin and I share a house and bed, but we never speak, not even when we argue," she replied, eyes closed and tone even so as not to disturb Neal.

It was a foolish question, she decided as she considered it more. Best to save face and change the topic. "Is Henry here?"

Regina opened one eye. "He left this morning for a walk, or so he said. He promised to be home an hour ago. I've called and texted. He answered that he was on his way back. He should be here soon."

Snow smiled, relieved. "Good. I wanted to visit with him a little. Catch up. See how he has been doing since… since the funeral," she forced herself to say, her smiled wavering until it slipped away. "Where's Zelena?" She had no desire to see the witch.

"She's off somewhere. Plotting, probably. But the baby is down for her nap, and I put a spell on her room that will keep Zelena out, and Roland is playing with… his imaginary friend… in the garden; the spell on him will alert me if anything happens." Regina did not seem interested in discussing the matter further, so Snow settled in to wait for her grandson.

As if he were summoned by her thoughts, Henry opened the door. His movements were slow, subdued, tired. Snow opened her mouth to greet him but her voice caught in her throat. He carried a dreamcatcher.

The room stilled; not even Neal twitched. Henry's eyes zeroed in on Regina, not seeming to notice Snow or the baby. "I found this in her house," he said softly. They didn't need to ask whose house. "She had a room for me. I found this hanging over my bed. Is it… does it do anything?" He asked, holding it out.

Shifting Neal to one side, Regina reached out. "Yes," she said before she even touched it. She could feel the magic the moment he entered the house. "Let me see," she murmured to herself.

"It was made with light magic," she said softly. Snow listened, rapt. "That should have been impossible for the Dark One, but Emma never was very good at following the rules." Her tone was wry, and Snow felt an ache in her heart at the (very true) comment about her daughter.

Regina's eyes flickered up to Henry. "This is filled to the brim with protective magic," she said. "It is specific to sleep. You would never have nightmares, not even from the sleeping curse, if you were to sleep under it." Regina swallowed, a flash of guilt in her eyes. "But there are other protections woven into it as well. No one would be able to invade your dreams if they had any evil intentions. With this near you, no harm would be able to come to you while you sleep."

There was a strange, heavy silence that Snow did not quite understand. Shouldn't Henry be delighted to have this one final gift from his mother? She would be delighted to have one more relic of her mother or father. Besides, Snow herself was still haunted by the dreams from the sleeping curse, and knew David was as well. Why wasn't Henry more pleased?

The boy sighed. "I'm gonna hang this over my bed, then I'll be back. We can visit for a bit, okay Grandma?" But he was already half up the stairs before she could reply.

-SH-

Rumplestiltskin stared up at the library. He wasn't quite sure how long he'd stood there, just watching. Finally, he drew himself up and walked in.

His wife, as he expected, was at the main desk, flipping through the main catalog and frowning.

"Belle," he greeted. She looked up and her face went blank. This time, she did not respond. He sighed. "I know I've no right, not with all of my lies, but I've come to ask a favor."

"I'm not interested in a deal," she replied firmly.

"Not a deal," he said quickly. "A favor. I need your help," he said, trying to appeal to her better side.

"Deal, favor. It doesn't matter. You're a master of wordplay. I was tired of your games a long time ago, Rumple, and I don't want to play anymore. Leave me be."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Belle, not just yet. I've quite the battle on my hands, and I can't fight it alone."

"How poetic," she said dryly, but he saw the gleam in her eye, the gleam that shone in her eyes every time someone she cared for was threatened, a gleam that told him she still loved him. After everything he'd done, she still cared, at least a little. He could work with that.

He opened his mouth to speak and froze. There, standing behind Belle, was his son. Bae looked at him, tall and strong, frowning over Belle's shoulder.

She frowned, turned slightly to look behind her, and looked back at him, puzzled. She didn't see him. And he, for all that he'd been trying to speak to his son for months now, could not even greet his boy. He looked down, pained, but when he looked back, Bae was gone.

"Rumple?" She asked, concern lacing her voice.

He startled then cleared his throat. She looked at him suspiciously. He remembered a time when she only looked at him with trust. He doubted she would trust his sincerity now—if only that had been part of a show.

"I need help," he said again. "I've been trying to find a spell, something that will help me, but I've nothing in my shop. I was hoping you could help me."

Belle looked very tired then, her shoulders sagging just a little. "What do you need me to look up, exactly?"

Rumplestiltskin braced himself. She was not going to like this. "Ways to speak to the dead," he answered. He knew she would be angry, but she had not expected the cold fury in her gaze.

"And what, exactly, makes you think I would be so willing to disturb the dead who have long earned their rest?"

"I need it, Belle. There are things that need to be said, and I dare say I won't get to share them in death, since I won't be anywhere near him," he pleaded.

"Him," Belle intoned, realization in her eyes. "Baelfire. Neal."

He nodded, a tremor in his hand. "My son. I need to speak to him, Belle, it's important. When we were in the Underworld, we… I…" Rumplestiltskin turned away. "I need to speak with him, Belle. Please."

Belle sighed, looking more worn than he had ever seen her.

"I'll see what I can find," she muttered.

"Thank you," he breathed. "Thank you."

-SH-

Belle sighed as Rumplestiltskin left. She was tired, so tired. Yet another task weighing down on her. Belle doubted she would have time to consider everything she talked about in her sessions with Dr. Hopper with this new task.

Belle sat, exhausted. Why, why did she agree to look for ways to speak to the dead? Was she mad? Perhaps. She was just too tired to argue for much longer. Besides, she said she would look. She never said she would actually find anything, or that she would share with him if she did.

The door chimed then, as another person walked in.

"What's his problem?" Lily asked, watching Rumplestiltskin over her shoulder.

Belle sighed. "Nothing. It's… nothing. Can I help you?" She asked, deflecting attention away from her husband.

Lily looked back at her and smiled. "I find myself in need of help and I hear you're the gal to talk to," she replied, her tone overly exaggerated and mocking.

Belle's lips twitched in a smile, even as she wanted to sigh. Of course. Someone else came to her to pick her brain or send her off to research something. "I know a thing or two. Maybe I can help. What are you looking for?"

Lily sauntered up and leaned on the desk. "I, ah, I'm looking for my father," she admitted. "Family has become a bit more important to me since I came here. The problem is, well, dragon mating habits."

Belle nodded. She'd read plenty about dragons. She'd heard Rumple mutter about them enough to feel the need to have such knowledge in her repertoire. "They meet and mate as dragons, then the male flies off. Sometimes they return when the dragonet is grown, usually they don't."

Lily looked impressed. "You really do know your stuff." Belle flushed a little, but Lily was speaking again. "That's good. I hope. I wanted to look for who my dad might be. Lists of known male dragons, if they came over in the curse, that sort of thing. Know any places I can look?"

That took her aback. Normally, Belle was relegated to research, and only rarely had help. "I know a few books that might help. I've never come across a list of dragons, and I've no idea if they came over—I know that other than you and your mother, there have been no dragon sightings—but I know of a few legends about dragons."

Lilly nodded. "And legends have a tendency to be real, at least in this town. Good idea. Which way?" She pushed herself back.

Belle couldn't help the smile that pulled at her anymore. "Wait here. I'll go grab a few for you. I can find them faster."

"I'm not gonna complain about that," Lily said, smirking.

Smiling, she walked off for the books with a bounce in her step. It wasn't often people came to the library. Storybrooke was very much in an electronic age, and the written word was no longer appreciated as it should be. That Lily was willing to put in the work to research her potential lineage, well, that raised her standing drastically as far as Belle was concerned.

But then a little voice, one that sounded suspiciously like Rumplestiltskin's, whispered that Lily probably sent her a way to distract her. She was probably rummaging through Belle's notes at that moment. Belle grabbed the first few books on her list and hurried back.

It was for nothing. Lily was working hard to balance a pencil on its sharpened point, brow furrowed in concentration. She giggled, snapping Lily back to the library. "Back so soon?" She asked confidently, not the least embarrassed.

"Here are a few. I figured you would want to start as soon as you could. Take these to start. I'll get some more."

Lily took the two books with a nod, then settled herself at a table.

Over the next few hours, Belle did her own research for her husband while Lily worked. Every so often, Belle would glance up, but the other woman was always focused on her books, scribbling down occasional notes. The two worked in companionable silence. It was pleasant. She hadn't had a silent partner like this in a long time, not even in her marriage, since Rumple often did his work in his shop, away from her library, or in secret while she slept.

Eventually, Lily sat back with a groan and stretched. "Mind if I take these with me?" She asked, gesturing to the stack.

Belle was amused. "This is a library," she responded. "You are allowed to take them home after you check them out."

"Cut me some slack," Lily responded with a smile to show she was not upset. "I normally steal things. I'm trying to do right by this town and be all honest or whatever."

"Fair enough," Belle said, nodding. "You can sign them out."

Lily walked over and started to speak, but frowned. "What the… what is all this? Hieroglyphics?"

Belle looked down and giggled. "No, these are my notes."

"Notes? Hell no. Those are squiggles."

She smiled. "It's my own shorthand," she explained. "I take a lot of notes when I do my research. It takes too long to write it all out. This is much faster, and I can fit more on a page."

Lily frowned at the notes. "You know no one can read that, right?"

Belle smirked. "I know. It keeps people from stealing my research. No one can crack it, either. I'm fluent in many languages—I won't say which, of course—but I know enough of them, plus symbols I've made up over the years, to make this. No one would be able to read it. And that is just as well. I tend to have to research very sensitive things." Like ways to talk to the dead, but that went unsaid.

"You're smarter than people say you are—and they talk you up a lot already. You really need to get out more and stop hiding all of your brilliance in here," Lily said, waving her hand at the library.

"I'll think about it," Belle lied.

-SH-

In a rare break, where she was neither training nor working in the smithy, they were all gathered around a fire. It was Connla's idea, of course. His family, Scáthach and Aífe, were untiring taskmasters in their training. Aífe was silent, but her eyes could more than make her desires clear, sometimes more so than Scáthach's sharp orders. She never trained Hunter, not really, but she was very much present.

Scáthach, Aífe and Connla sat on one side, Gilgamesh, Graham and Hunter on the other. Graham's companion, the wolf, was lazing about behind him. Hunter was grateful for the rest. Her muscles still ached from deflecting hard, overhead strikes from all of her comrades, save Connla, for however long they had practiced. It was something about muscle memory, according to Scáthach. Hunter wasn't entirely sure. She never was very good at paying attention to lectures, something Scáthach bemoaned fairly regularly.

"You know, I've trained a hero or two in my life and death," Scáthach bragged to them, then rolled her eyes. "Most were not half as ill-prepared as this one," she said, jerking her had at Hunter; the blonde woman had to push away a surge of anger and forced herself to shrug absently. "In all my years, I've never met a hero as incompetent as our Hunter."

"Mayhap it is not my Sister that is incompetent, but rather your methods?" Gilgamesh defended lightly.

Scáthach smirked. "No, it's her. I've yet to meet anyone with such a tendency to fall. Or have you not seen how often she trips over her own feet when she's running?"

A few chuckles from the Huntsman and Connla, but Gilgamesh pouted, which made Hunter laugh. The look was ill suited to his face. She prodded the fire before going back to her work. She was making a cloak for herself, made from the swan feathers she'd collected. It kept her busy and meant she did not have to look up at them, and if she did not have to do that, she could avoid talking about how imbalanced she felt without a sword in her hand. Perhaps she would have to start running with one, but she did not want to hear the jests from the others about the dangers of running with a sword in hand.

The lot of them started trading stories of their lives. Hunter, knowing nothing of hers, remained quiet, choosing to focus on her cloak, but listened intently. Gilgamesh mostly talked of his friend Enkindu, and Hunter wondered how far their friendship extended; she would have to ask him someday. Maybe. Probably not.

Eventually, the stories turned to their deaths.

Graham had the most nonsensical. "I kissed a lovely maiden, remembered who I was, and died because my heart was crushed." Hunter was pretty sure he was lying.

Gilgamesh had the most fantastical. "I was struck by a great and terrible illness. But there is no man or woman born who has escaped death. Accepting this, a designed and built my own tomb, then laid myself to rest as the waters of my land flooded my eternal home. It is buried still, in the waters of my homeland."

Connla had the most tragic. "I was killed by m'father," he said, speaking as clearly and matter-of-factly as the others. "He bid me come t'him, but he knew not m'face and I was not permitted to speak m'name. I was challenged t'a fight, and m'father, not knowing I was his blood, fought me himself. He killed me. I thought he was a good man fer a long time, m'father" Connla said, his voice on then growing more distant and pensive. "It was not until m'mother joined me in death that I learned the truth of what kind of man m'father really was." He reached over and took Aífe's hand in his.

Hunter felt very sick. Connla's tale struck a strange note in her heart. Anger choked her. Then she looked up and caught Aífe's powerful gaze. Images flashed through her mind. A red haired man, strong of build, training with Scáthach. Fighting Aífe. Winning, standing over the blonde. A melding of bodies, flesh against flesh, red and blonde hair, a stream of tears down dirty cheeks and torn clothes. Cold silence after, even if Scáthach's gentle hold. A babe. Growing, this boy, a scrapper, always fighting, but with a kind smile, and excited to one day meet his father. Aífe holding his dead, mangled body, still silent as the day he was conceived.

"Sister? Sister!" Gilgamesh loomed over her, concern in his deep brown eyes. "I have called you many times, Sister, but you seemed lost to the world. Where did you mind go?"

"I, uh, I was just thinking that I probably bit it in a bar fight," she lied.

Gilgamesh cocked his head to the side. "Bar fight?"

What followed was a lengthy conversation on what a bar fight was and how they were usually started. Hunter, relieved the conversation was redirected, sighed. She felt sick all over again, but this time the sickness was not over the death of child. Now, it was sickness born of understanding, of shared experience.

But what, exactly, did Hunter understand? Was it the loss of a child? Or was it the conception? Perhaps, she considered, it was a mixture of both. She did not want to know. Instead, she turned her gaze away, swallowed her anger and choked back her pity.

Later, much later though she could not tell how long they sat around the fire—hours, days, weeks—she returned to her smithy. That was how she thought of it. Her smithy. Hunter's eyes flicked to the black sword, her sword. It needed a companion, she decided.

A rustle drew her attention. Aífe stood in the doorway, unmoving. She held the swan feather cloak Hunter had worked on. She hung it on a hook near the black sword and glided over to the boulder Gilgamesh had cheerily placed next to Patch's chair. She stared, silent.

Jumbled images can quickly to her mind. Connla taking his first steps. His first laugh. His first words. Watching him toddle into Scáthach's waiting arms. Lifting him, spinning him, watching him smile. Lying in the green, green grass. Eating. Aífe and Scáthach running with him, teaching him to use a sword, to throw and take a punch. Seeing him set off alone, eager to find his father. A small grave on the hillside, accompanied by the distant knowledge that his father took the body, and the marker on the hill a mere stone with nothing to mark. But love. Oh, the love. It did nothing to dull the ache of the past, but her love of her son was strong and second to none.

Breaking away from Aífe's gaze, Hunter collapsed to the ground and heaved, though there was nothing in her stomach—the dead do not eat. She heaved again and again, before a gentle hand rested on her shoulder. She looked up into Aífe's terrifying gaze.

Their eyes locked and time, if it existed in death, stopped altogether. Connla's father was a strong, arrogant man. He'd defeated Aífe in combat and forced himself upon her, then taken her son. For all that he had done, though, Hunter saw the steel in Aífe's eyes now—he had not broken her. Her silence was her choice, Hunter realized; it was a testament to her strength and not her weakness. There were many ways to be strong, Aífe said with her eyes.

Aífe, she could see, was both a mother and a strong woman. One who loved her son in spite of his father. That, above all, Hunter could respect. She did not pity Aífe. She could not pity one so strong. Aífe drew back and nodded her satisfaction. Without so much as a whisper of sound, she turned and left.

She'd been wrong not to think Aífe was a teacher. She did not teach the sword, no, but her lessons were just as vital. Aífe was teaching her about a very different kind of strength.

Hunter watched her go and shivered. There would be no work for her, not any time soon. There was only an unending ache in her heart, and the terrible feeling that she was missing something very important.

-End Episode Four: Strange Happenings-


End file.
